Drowning in Tears...

Once again, it's been quite a while between posts. I think of writing often, the words just kind of swirling around in my head after a particularly funny moment, or a moment I just want to vent about. But, I just don't make it here. And though I love writing, it's simply because I'm exhausted. And not just physically, but mentally.
There's only so much crying a person's ears can be exposed to before her eardrums ring with each scream and her brain feels like it's trying to crawl out of her head. Only so much crying a person can listen to before insanity sets in. And honestly, I think I'm just about there.
I remember when Christian was weeks old and he would cry all the time, courtesy of a bit of colic and his cleft, and thinking it was not possible that a baby could cry more. But was I ever wrong. Damon has Christian beat, doctor's appointments, surgeries, and all. And I realize it's not his fault. And even though he has a perfect little nose and mouth, an adorably huge dimple on his right cheek and the coolest natural faux hawk you've ever seen, I just can't get past the crying. Because he cries, and cries, and cries, and cries, and cries. See, he's got colic and reflux. And not just a bit of fussiness here and there, but full on, "my stomach is killing me", "must scream at the top of my lungs for an hour after feedings and possibly throw up half of what I just ate", colic and reflux. He's already tested about 7 different formulas and is on his second prescription drug to help. Not to mention, he spent a week in the NICU for 14 rounds of antibiotics and went through two rounds of thrush. That coupled with Christian crying for a full month after we brought Damon home has me at my "listening to crying" limit. No more, please. I just can't take it...
But let me back up a bit. After Damon was born, they tested him for the Group Strep B bacteria. His elevated blood cultures indicated that he could have contracted the bacteria and since it can be deadly in infants, they don't take any chances. And so, lil' man D spent a week in the NICU receiving his rounds of antibiotics every morning and every night. And the poor guy, his veins kept collapsing turning the IV's bad, so they moved from one limb to the next until they came full circle. He had bruises everywhere. The entire situation felt like deja vu, really. Same nurses. Same schedule of pumping enough milk so that he'd have enough throughout the night. Same worry. Staying there for the exact same amount of time... You know, it's a good thing Wally has good insurance, because between our two kids, if we didn't have insurance, we'd be in over $175,000 worth of medical bill debt. Anyway, we finally brought Damon home and that's when things really started to be fun. Christian just cried. Poor man wasn't the only ray of sunshine in our lives. And he's such a sweet boy. Never once did he try to hit or do anything mean to Damon. On the contrary. He held his hands, gave him hugs and kisses. He still does, and actually, no one can make Damon smile quicker than Christian. But his way of telling us he was jealous was to just cry. And cry some more. And cry some more. It was almost a month to the day before he relaxed.
Anyway, things weren't much easier for me. My incision took much longer to heal and was extremely painful this time around. The doctor told me it was because I put my "already cut" uterus through the worst possible scenario. The stress of labor and then yet another cut. So that was fun. Then there was the bad reaction my digestive system had to the surgery. It just stopped working. 10 days later, I was reduced to chugging the leftover Castor oil and dispensing suppositories one after the other for desperate release. I was miserable. Then there was breastfeeding. I didn't have the opportunity to breastfeed Christian and so I was really excited for Damon. And it was such a sweet experience. Probably one of the sweetest I can remember having in my life. But my body just wouldn't cooperate. After a few weeks, I got blocked ducts, and rather than releasing after a few days like they did with Christian, they continued to get worse. And the pain? It was mind-blowing, easily equal to contractions. Damon would have to feed every 45 minutes because he couldn't pull enough milk out and then he'd have a fit when he wanted more and it just wouldn't let down. So, we'd have to top him off with formula. A few days after that, I had fever, chills and my entire body ached. I knew then that I had mastitis. And I had it bad. It wasn't long after that I made the decision to stop breastfeeding. And it was a hard one for me to make. Walmir wasn't supportive in the beginning and I kind of felt like a failure. But I prayed heavily about it and knew I made the right choice. I was depressed for a couple of weeks after I dried up, but...that's just how things go sometimes.
And so, it's been a long 10 weeks. And don't get me wrong, we've had some great moments, too. And family has been such a huge help. Especially over the holiday. But as the beginning of another semester starts and I think about Walmir being gone all the time and taking care of these two lil' boys on my own... I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if I was really cut out to be a mother, or at least, a good one. Sure, I have days when things go smoothly, but it's more often (at least lately) where I leave a screaming Damon in his crib and a screaming Christian knocking on my bedroom door, while I sit locked in my bathroom with my head on my knees, covering my ears, and trying to give myself just 10 peaceful breaths and allow a few tears to bail out before I get up and try again.

You know, in a way, it's almost like I'm not sure who I am anymore. I've realized that so much of who I thought I was came from successes I'd encountered through my education and profession and accomplishing goals I'd set for myself. But take that away and here I am, just a mom trying to make it through the hours upon hours of crying, failing to soothe over and over again. Failing to keep the house in order as it should be. Not having the time or energy to work on the things that I love or the things that made me feel like I was still accomplishing things, like photography or the piano or running. And I wonder...

No one tells you how hard being a parent is. No one really prepares you for how much of yourself you have to give up. And maybe things wouldn't be so hard if there wasn't so much crying. But there's just so. much. crying. So many tears. Between the three of us, sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in them.

And yet, at the same time, I know that Damon will eventually grow out of his colic. That Christian will grow up a little bit and that I'll figure out who I am without all the extra stuff. Just me, stripped down to the core. And I'm hoping that when I look back, these months of screaming, crying, tears and borderline insanity will be a time I look back on with fondness, simply because it was a time that made me become a better person....whoever that may be.