I’m not designed for motherhood. The baby tends to poop right around 6 in the morning, which is the height of my “please, please, please let me sleep even for 40 minutes more.” Of course he’s fussy and kicking and hitting, he’s sitting in his poop! But this morning I thought “can I convince this child to fall asleep while sitting in his poop?”
No, not my boy. That’s good. He has not fallen prey to learned helplessness. He will not fall asleep in his poop.
Then he’s like UP for awhile. It’s 10 and he’s pretty consistently been up since 6. Not that anyone asked, but he’ll have a big chunk of sleep from 8 to 1:30 am. If I could fall asleep at 8 pm that could work. At 1:30 he drinks a bottle, passes out quick, then between 3-4:30 he wakes up, maybe needs his diaper changed, maybe drinks half a bottle or takes forever to finish a bottle. Then 6 he is UP. Whether he is sitting in poop or not.
It catches up with me quicker than I want it to. I don’t do well with sleep deprivation, turns out. I read recently that sleep deprivation decreases empathy. My experience matches up with that.
It’s just hard to feel like a person.
How on earth do other women breastfeed and ever have sex again with their husbands? Honestly how are we supposed to give birth and ever want to sign up again for the experience that culminates in birth? I think that’s something that confuses me about porn- it’s all women’s bodies getting brutalized but birth is way more brutal. So why do we get turned on by beating up on the female body when the beating up we can do really doesn’t match what the body will do to itself?
I know I’m being dramatic. For some reason birth being brutal is just the theme I keep fixating on when I’ve got my hands on the keyboard. Perhaps because I get the urge to write in the morning and I feel pretty brutalized in the morning.
He got up again! That was only a 10 minute nap! He’s been up since 6 and he just fell asleep for 10 minutes. Why does this guy want to be up in the mornings so bad?
My husband takes him overnight pretty often but he had to go out of town. Honestly I think this kid is gonna get sleep trained a lot quicker if his dad handles nights, because his dad can sleep through anything. That freaked me out the first 2 months, how loud the kid could wail while his dad was still snoring away, but now this kid is 3 months and I feel fine with him skipping one of those bottles after midnight because his dad is passed out. And honestly I’m just not a good person when I’m sleep deprived. I’m not a person generally, good or not, when I’m sleep deprived.
Something I’ve always hated about detrans discourse is that some people will take ANY description of the physical surprises associated with being female as some kind of hardline gender essentialist “GOD DESIGNED US DIFFERENT HE WANTS ME TO HAVE LONG HAIR AND NAILS HE WANTS YOU TO BEAT PEOPLE UP.” But look, there was something chemical fucking with my sleep when we first brought this baby home that was not fucking with my husband’s sleep. I would wake up if there was any movement or sound coming from the baby’s direction, and that was not happening for my husband. Like, the aftermath of giving birth is so specifically female and not in a good way. I think all through pregnancy I felt hijacked by my body and the fourth trimester feels the same way. I mean also because you’re solving uncomfortably crotch related problems throughout the fourth trimester.
Well, the world’s conception of personhood is just not designed for someone being put through it by a female body. ARGH I’m so fixated on this! This is every blog post! Like, it’s the one note! This is not the only note to play through life, why does my brain just circle this one fucking theme.
I don’t know, I’m just frustrated. I’m frustrated by my brain. If there was another brain in this body’s head I feel like a lot of people would be happier. But I mean, no one is promised happiness so I guess brain replacement for the good of family and friends is a weird thing to mention.
No way to wrap this up. This is not real writing, it’s a diary entry. You’re not supposed to want strangers to read your diary, right? That’s like potentially one of my symptoms, that I would rather strangers read my diary than just keep a notebook? One of the reasons I will never accrue power in my lifetime, my urge to divulge.