Monday, July 30, 2007

Twitching Hour

When my daughter Chloe was born, I was warned of the "witching hour", around 6 or 7 PM when I could expect her to cry like a lunatic. Well, it never happened. She would chill out placidly amongst her fish in the fantastic Fisher Price Acquarium Bouncy Seat, or chomp at one of my boobs as I ate dinner (eat and be eaten, I suppose). No screaming.

If anything, this new baby is even more relaxed. I hear that this is common for babies born on the early side, as he behaves as if he has swallowed a few Prozac, or taken a huge bong hit. I have barely heard him cry, not even at the supposed witching hour, which is actually the only time he is somewhat alert, staring into space, safely tucked far enough away from his sister's sinister fork that can be tossed with a vengeance at a moments notice.

I, on the other hand, have a Twitching Hour. It sneaks upon me at around 7:00PM and really gets going at around 8 or 9. I start to twitch in panic, that this is just too hard. It generally comes after Chloe has hurled herself in anger against my incision, fists of furt flailing as her brother tries to nurse. Then there are just the after effects of a long humid day with overfull breasts, a sore abdomen, too much time spent indoors, inability to nap and anticipation of a somewhat sleepless night ahead. And then, there is my ever present dread of change, guessing and second guessing myself, wondering if Chloe has been traumatized beyond repair. Add a sprinkling of concern that this baby sleeps too much, a dash of worry that my milk supply is dwindling and a heaping spoonful of "what the hell will happen when I am finally alone with these two" and you have a recipe for some serious twitching.

My husband A offers up a "too late to turn back now", and sometimes even offers up some lovely soothing words. But in general, he seems totally unaffected by this life overhaul. He expected as much and is just thrilled that I am not the psycho that I was the first time around. And in many ways, so am I. Whereas last time I lay in bed, choking back tears for hours and days, sure that I have made a huge mistake, this time I have willed myself to smother my anxiety for most of the day, releasing it slowly only when I am to tired to supress it.

And unlike last time, this time when I greet the morning I am actually twitch free. In the unapologetic light of day, I am thrilled by my choices and their outcomes, and pretty sure that I can do this -- confidence filled, armpits shaved, ready to try again.


At 4:22 PM PDT, Blogger Janya said...

Armpits shaved?!? You really are superwoman!

Please tell me you, at least sometimes, stay in your jammies well into the twilight hours...

At 6:23 PM PDT, Blogger Amy said...

Ahh, Janya...If only you saw what I was wearing - PJs would be a step up for me.

Cant wait to hear how you are doing!!

At 6:56 PM PDT, Anonymous Leigh said...

The nights are the worst! (says the childless friend!)

my middle name is anxious, and my "twitching hour" (LOVE it!) is essentially the first hour I'm in bed. Thinking about the next day, what I have to do, how am I going to get it all done, what if I'm never famous, blah blah blah. ;) I hate to go to bed sometimes because that means the next day will be here before I know it, before I'm ready.

Then the morning comes, and I'm up. Cranky maybe, but not anxious, not worried.

So much blogging! I love it!


Post a Comment

<< Home