I can’t believe it’s been 24 1/2 weeks since L was born. I’ll say that first off. I’m sitting here, typing, while she sits contentedly in her cradle swing in front of the mirror, playing with a shiny wrapper for a Power Crunch bar. She can entertain herself so easily, and I love watching her brain work.
When J works his long overnight shifts, I’m alone for 26 hours. Before we had L, his shifts were different and I was alone for just 15 or so hours when he’d work nights. I never minded those nights at all, and in fact, enjoyed the occasional night alone to watch crappy TV or take long, quiet baths, or whatever.
She’s so laid back, it seems. And I don’t know if it was luck of the draw or we accidentally did something right, but she rarely wakes up crying now, and in fact, only really cries when she’s desperately tired, usually, and we haven’t let her sleep.
Anyway, the long 25-hour shifts alone can get really hard, especially in the last few hours when it’s before sunrise and Ethan Hawke is nowhere to be found… wait, what? … Especially when it’s before sunrise and I’m tired and J is still not due to return home for a couple of hours. If L starts crying inconsolably during those times, or if she’s wide awake and I’m dead on my feet, I can get despondent. So I started zoloft, and it seems to be helping enormously. It’s also a lovely drug because, honestly, it doesn’t interfere with orgasms like so many anti-depressants do. It’s helping me simply not be anxious, and that’s lovely.
I’m sure you’ve all seen that horrible Malaysian child abuse video that’s been going around — and if you haven’t, DON’T go looking for it. Needless to say, the mother in the video is in prison now and the baby is OK and is with a foster family. Anyway, that video is haunting me, and all I want to do is become a super-hero and go rescue battered children and animals.