No Sleep Mom

The high pitch scream pulls me out of sleep. Again. I bolt out of bed, confused and dazed. It takes me a second to register where I'm going. I stumble out the room, through the hallway towards the room at the end. The baby is furiously wailing in the crib. Babies normally look adorable, but when they are howling their heads off, like mine is now, they look scary. A little monster yelling it's attack charge. Am I a bad mother to think that?

"Shh. It's okay. Shh." I pick him gently, swaying him. "I'm here, Tommy. It's okay. I got you."

I check his diaper and find it dry. I just fed him a moment ago, so he can't be hungry. He was just sleeping now. The clock on the shelf across from me says it was twenty-five minutes ago. Do babies have nightmares? I vaguely remember reading something that said they do. I read so much information and been told so much by family and friends that I don't remember all of it.

I hum him a lullaby, rocking him back to sleep. I'm not a good singer and I don't want him to be tone death. I twirl around with him, but it doesn't ease his crying. Why are you crying?

"Tommy. Please stop crying. You were just sleeping now." I'm on the verge of crying myself. I haven't properly slept since we brought him home, five days ago. Jake's a construction worker, so he always comes home tired. He got up to handle Tommy one night, but then woke me up, saying Tommy wouldn't stop crying and didn't know what to do. He does try to help, he is learning too. Parents don't just magically know how to take care of their first baby.

I go back to the bedroom to retrieve my phone only to be surprised to find it not there. The screeching screams don't help me to remember where I left it. Think. Baby room! I walk back to see it laying on the changing table. How did I not see that?

I grab it, opening up the music app. I gently plop down on the rocking chair that Jake's grandma gave us for a baby present. It's made of spruce wood with white padding for comfort. His grandpa made it for their first child. The wood has obviously aged, but it still looks in good condition. I play the lullaby playlist, rocking back and forth.

After several minutes of failure and switching playlists, I think to walk him out in the backyard. The sunlight and warmth hugs us the second I open the screen door. The yard is bare except for a medium-sized tree in the back left corner. There's plenty of space for a swing set and small slide that Jake promised one for when Tommy turns four. But right now he either doesn't notice or doesn't care, because he's still crying his lungs out.

"Tommy, shh. Look, we're outside now. Isn't it a pretty day?" Great, now  my right arm is getting numb. I sat down to carefully shift him to the other arm, swinging the numb tingling arm around to get feeling back in.

I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I think back to when my mom had my little brother. Whenever he'd cry, she would calm him down in a minute. A minute! She did the same things I'm doing now. I'm doing what the website and books said to do. So why isn't it working?

Do I not have the magic touch? Is there a magic touch? Mom said there isn't. It's just practice and knowing your child. I knew raising a baby wasn't going to be easy, but right now it seems impossible. I stare at him with pleading eyes, which is stupid since his eyes are shut tight and duh, his a baby. He doesn't understand what pleading means, let alone what it looks like.

I walk a couple of more laps around. Good thing my neighbors aren't home. "Why are you crying?" I look down into his tear stain red face. His hands in little tight fist. I nuzzled his face with mine, thinking it could get his attention. It does not. I kiss his forehead. "Baby boy please stop crying."

Maybe he is hungry. I hurriedly walk back inside. I stand there dumbfounded, thinking if I made some already. Then I remember I did. I take one from the fridge. It takes fifteen long minutes to warm up in a pot of boiling water. I squirt a few drops on my arm, assuring it's warm.

"Look, I have your bottle," placing it in his mouth. He doesn't clasp down on it or reach for it. He still continues to cry. I groan my frustration out loud.

He's been crying for an hour now. "Use your super mother instincts," I say to myself. Okay, mother intrusion.

Could just be colic, except he hasn't been crying that loud. And he's not crying in pain. His diaper is still dry. He doesn't want to eat, music and rocking doesn't help. Think, you're a mom now. Clothes! He could be hot or cold, even uncomfortable. Oh, I could swaddle him too! I know that helps. They love to be swaddle in. I feel like a complete idiot to forget that. I blame it on lack of sleep.

He can't be hot, he's only wearing a short sleeve onesie. It didn't bother him before. The weather is changing to summer more.

I go back upstairs to get his blanket. I grab the blue cotton one from his crib. I lay it out on the changing table, placing him on top. He wiggles around crying while I wrap him up. I pick him up and start rocking him again. Praying and hoping it will work.

After five minutes he slowly starts to calm down. His eyes flutter open and close, looking sleepy. I smile wide in relief. I place him ever so gently down in the crib, holding my breath. His eyes open and they stare at me. Love and trust fill them. And that is why I became a mom. I kiss him softly on the forehead. I watch him close his eyes and fall back asleep.

Even if I feel like I'm going to collapse into deep sleep. I stay to watch him sleep. His chest rises and drops slowly. His breathing becoming regular. His eyelids involuntarily twitch, indicating he's in a deep sleep. I finally walk away. I need sleep too. I glance one more time at Tommy. "I love you. Now and always," I whisper.