The Terrible Thirteens* …or how I almost came to lose my mind in the space of a fortnight ;o)

As I type this, which I’ve been trying to do for oh, about 2 weeks now, Baby F. is crying in her bedroom. The bedroom, whose door I’m sitting directly in front of. That she can see me from. That I’m only about 10 feet from.

I think I’ve been very lucky so far with Baby F. She wasn’t colicky, she slept through the night almost immediately after arriving home from the hospital, she’s good with people, friendly and sweet….

So maybe I had it coming after being so fortunate ;o). 

We had a period almost like this late last year. I call that time my lost Autumn. The season, principally late October and all – and I do mean all - of November, when she decided she’d become inconsolable and unhappy regardless of anything I did. And so I stopped doing pretty much anything besides feeding and changing and trying to amuse her.  My sleeping went kaput, I became a daytime zombie, and I fell into a terrible hole from which I just managed to emerge sometime around December 1^st or so.

But then it was all okay again. As quickly as the weirdness came, it went away. And all rejoiced, for Baby F. was truly merciful ;o)

But now it’s back. The weirdness, the tantrums, the indiscriminate screaming, the crazy flailing.

Even worse than before. 

Now she can crawl. The developmental stage that we were so pleased with, has now turned into a source of daily grief. Because with the ability to crawl, comes the unwillingness to stay still anywhere. Where before, that long gone time of 2 weeks ago , she was perfectly happy to amuse herself in her bedroom  - secure with a door gate (and it’s a large room) – she now freaks out at being placed in it.

Baby F. alternates between wanting to have some hugs and a cuddle on my lap to immediately pulling ‘The Matrix’ and throwing herself completely back, horizontally, with a stretch and a tautness that before seeing it, I’d have thought impossible from any human, much less a baby. 

And sure, some of these little tantrums are likely teething related. 

But only a very select few.

For the most part, she’s just going through a really bad phase.

I know this rationally, of course.

Both I and Papa-in-Training have Googled our hearts out and consulted whatever books we’ve picked up along the way or that fellow Mamas and Papas have kindly passed on to us. So we know this is not unusual or odd.

But knowing this and dealing with it on a daily basis is another thing altogether. I’m finding it very hard to deal with it. I dread Mondays and having to take care of Baby F. on my own until either Papa-in-Training comes home or Vóvó drops by for a wee visit. And of course I feel like crap for feeling this way. But when you have tons of things to do, your apartment is in shambles, you’re neglecting your friends, and your baby is being impossible, it’s hard not to end up feeling crappy.

Weekends help tremendously, when Papa-in-Training pretty much takes over and I get to at least have a semblance of some time without having to take care of a wailing baby, whether it be to have a proper shower, write a letter or tidy up a closet.

But it’s not quite enough right now.

We’re pretty much stuck, the two of us. 

Baby F. with the wailing and the flailing and me with the guilt at not really knowing how to or wanting to deal with it, but of course doing it.

I hope this ‘phase’ goes away soon so we can get back to being semi-productive and having fun learning and playing, instead of near-constant tantrums. 

I know it will. We’ll just have to wait it out. 

Wish us luck :o)



*Thirteen months, of course, not thirteen years ;o).