Sid took a month off from work after Spagett was born, and looking back, I don't even know why he did it. He spent most of his time playing video games or doing stuff on the computer. He wasn't taking care of the baby. I DID THAT. He wasn't the one sitting up all night with a vomiting infant. I DID THAT. He wasn't the one changing diapers. I DID THAT, unless I specifically told him "YOU change this diaper."
And it's frustrating, because since he didn't spend much time with Spagett during those first weeks, now he wonders why the poor kid will not be comforted by him or take a bottle from him, when I desperately need time away from the baby. He says "oh, Spagett hates me!" and I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that it's HIS fault for not spending more time with Spagett when he was first born. And anyway, babies usually like mom better anyway: they spent nine months inside her, after all, and she is the whole world to them. IT'S UNDERSTANDABLE THEY'D PREFER MOM, is all I'm saying. It doesn't mean they hate dad.
I ran myself ragged that first month, when Spagett was puking all the time, before I figured out he's got a soy sensitivity and cannot tolerate it when I eat large amounts of tomatoes (Yay boobfeeding! You are so convenient, and yet you make my life a misery!). There were a few times when I would get overwhelmed, going whole nights without sleep and having to wipe up vomit AGAIN, that I would break down crying. I admit there were also a few times when I actually yelled at Spagett to JUST STOP CRYING, STOP PUKING, GIVE ME A BREAK FOR FIVE FREAKING MINUTES, and Sid would finally step up and give me a much needed respite when those things happened.
Sid helped, don't get me wrong. He ran errands and did laundry and took care of the house while I spent that first awful month trying to keep our kid fed and clean. He helped with the cooking. He washed dishes. He came to doctor's appointments. He just didn't help all that much with Spagett.
I spend all my time with Spagett. 24-7 with the kid. And I don't mind, but sometimes I just need a freaking break. Sometimes I want to take a long, hot bath. Or take a shit without listening to the baby squalling in the other room. Sometimes I just want to sleep for a few hours without interruption (Spagett is a noisy sleeper, and I wake at every.fucking.sound he makes, but I don't want to move him into his own room because sometimes he pukes in his sleep and I'm afraid that he'll choke to death on it - there have been at least three times where he's choked on his puke and turned colors until I could clear his airway, scary shit). I get so jealous of Sid sometimes, because even though he's going to work and that's a whole other set of bullshit, he's getting a break from the baby.
Nights are the worst. Spagett sleeps for two or three hour stretches until 3 am, and then he wakes every hour after that. Sid sleeps through all of it. There are times where I'm struggling to stay awake for a feeding and Sid is just lying in the bed next to me, snoring away. And I'm always surprised at the ferocious anger that sweeps over me at those moments. Sometimes it is so bad, so unshakable, that after the feeding, I fall asleep and dream that I am yelling at him. Screaming at him until my throat is raw and I'm hoarse.
I know this will pass. And that someday, when Spagett is much older, I will look back on these days when he was so little and cuddly and downright adorable, and actually miss them. So even though all of this is so incredibly frustrating sometimes, I am doing everything I can to try and treasure these days, because they will never come again.