Today my daughter is one month old, and I’m exhausted.
The other night, I had just drifted off to sleep when the baby woke up. Of course I’m used to this by now. She only sleeps for two-hour stretches, so she wakes up multiple times in the night.
Before she could get into full-force crying mode, I pulled her from her bedside bassinet and nursed her. Then I woke up my husband and sent him off to change her diaper while I used the bathroom, refilled my water glass, and changed out of my sweat-soaked pajamas. (Why, by the way, does no one tell you about post-partum night sweats? They’re the worst!)
I re-swaddled the little bae and nursed her until she got sleepy. Then I rocked her in my arms until her limbs went slack and it appeared she had fallen asleep. I gently deposited her in her bassinet, tucked her blanket around her, and counted to fifty before oh-so-agonizingly-slowly slipping my hand away from her soft little head in hopes that she wouldn’t realize she was no longer nestled safe in Mommy’s arms. I rocked the bassinet for a few minutes for good measure, and it seemed like she was fast asleep.
Relieved, I flopped back into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, excited to get another two hours of sleep. That’s when I heard the baby grunt. I stayed put, hoping she was making noises in her sleep. But no, now she was starting to whine and thrash. I sat up in bed and grabbed the side of the bassinet, hoping I could just rock her back to sleep. But soon enough her little eyes popped open, and her face screwed with displeasure. I tried slipping a pacifier between her lips, but she wouldn’t take it, and she let out a giant, heartbreaking wail.
“It’s okay, little baby,” I crooned while my husband moaned in his sleep. I picked her up and started to nurse her again. I went through the whole routine – nurse, rock, put in the bassinet, rock some more. But again, mere minutes after I lay her down, she started to cry.
On the third try, I held her in one arm, and with my free hand I checked my email on my phone. One of my emails turned out to be feedback from a beta reader who had just read the most recent draft of my novel. She had some good things to say about it, but she also pointed out many flaws and gave me suggestions for improvement. She had showed me some very real problems, and I was grateful for that, but the email also made me feel tired. I was going to have to start all over with the novel, giving it a total revision from head to toe.
As I rocked the baby in my arms, wondering if she was deep enough asleep to not notice a transfer into the bassinet, it occurred to me that getting a newborn back to sleep isn’t so different from revising a novel. Just when you think you’re done, you have to start all over again from the very beginning. It’s time consuming, it’s tiring… and yet, you love this baby of yours, whether it be a book baby or a human one, and somehow you find the patience not to throw it out the window.
Annoying as revisions may be, I’m looking forward to having the time and energy to revise this novel. I know it might take awhile, and I know I this might not be the last revision, but it’s my baby.
Finally, the human baby was fast asleep in my arms. I gently placed her in the bassinet and had begun to move my hands away from her head a fraction of an inch at a time when a loud, wet, squelching sound came from her behind. And then another. A moment later, her eyes blinked open and she began to wail. I woke up my husband and sent him off to do yet another diaper change. It was two a.m., and I could tell we were in for a long night.