The Question of Abuse

Okay so I've written about post-pregnancy farting and open flies during CPR class but now I'm going to try to go to one of the ugliest places I've been. I'll try to take you there with me so you can see what it was really like but I don't know if I'm the kind of writer who can make this as vivid as it should be. As I write this now, Eliza squeals unhappily in her exosaucer so I'm not exactly optimistic about my ability to work well. I don't know if it's the teething or the fact that she's on the verge of crawling but she's been pretty unhappy alone with me lately and none of the old toys or comforts seem to work. Okay she's quiet now, let me try to begin.

You take classes before the baby is born--most childbirth classes include a caring for a newborn segment. You are taught how to bathe and diaper a baby. I think the bathing and diapering techniques are required before your release from the hospital as well. So you get into your car which now sports your government approved car seat, strap in your bathed and diapered infant, twist the keys in the ignition and you're ready to go home with this new life you brought into the world.

As one of my friends asked, instead of all this time spent on baby hygiene, why isn't there a class on how to soothe a crying baby. Look at the books and they'll tell you a variety of tactics to quiet your sobbing little bundle. Start with the breast, not hungry? Go for the diaper, not dirty? Is it cold in the room, add another layer of clothing but not a loose blanket because cuddly blankets are a hazard. You can swaddle, wear your baby in a sling or push your baby in a carriage. The two books I have said there's always a reason for crying and your role as a parent is to find the problem and solve it. Okay now let me tell you this is lie number one, your baby might be crying for a "reason" but you after you've tried all the above methods that baby might still be crying. The fact that you can't find the source of these sobs and thus quiet these sobs doesn't make you a bad parent. The books don't tell you that so if you can't silence your baby, you feel you're a bad parent. Another thing the books don't tell you is exactly how this crying will deeply affect you, especially when you're sleep deprived, physically sore from pregnancy and childbirth, and your hormones ricochet like a game of indoor laser tag.

The books can't say exaclty how one will react to this crying because we're all different. Some people have calmer personalities and have the wherewithall to drink tea and slobber jam onto scones while a jackhammer pounds robustly two feet away. I use the jackhammer comparison because a baby crying at full volume has the same decibal level as a jackhammer. But for other people, myself included, the noise starts as a pencil that repeatedly taps the top of your forearm then intensifies to the force of a powerdrill digging into your skin. And no book or hosptial staffer tells you how to deal with it. Since books only touch on this subject, you know the old "take deep breaths" routine, let me tell you of my own experience.

The first two weeks of having Eliza at home passed in a relative blur. She slept a lot. I tried to sleep when she slept. Friends visited and we'd go out together. With my C-section recovery, I was told no pushing so my friends would push the stroller so I could get out of the apartment. Eliza cried only when she wanted food or wanted to be held. I probably thought, "wow, this is easy. Don't know why anyone says it's hard."

C was not around those weeks. I am not complaining or trying to badmouth him, I'm just trying to give you the complete picture. He plays tennis religiously every Wednesday night so he's not home until after 10 or 11. The other nights he worked late to make up for the week he missed while I was in the hospital. Most nights, when I went to bed, he wasn't here.

I can't say I minded. I liked having Eliza to myself. On the nights that he did come home, I often felt jealous as I watched him hold her. Sometimes she'd cry when she was tired and in this instance there was nothing we could do. He was much calmer, more in control than I was and I wanted so much to be like him. I wished the crying wouldn't affect me, that I could just say, oh she's a baby, babies cry but it did affect me. It made me tense and I know, as a mother, babies pick up on that.

C goes to visit his kids every Sunday and after the birth of Eliza this hasn't changed. They do come here more frequently but on the weekends they don't, he gets up on Sunday at 6am and leaves around 6:30. He takes the last train to New York which usually gets him home at 2am. The previous week, I had my father come for the day. After that day passed and I realized I didn't need the help, I said I'd be fine alone the following Sunday.

On Eliza's third Sunday at home, we had a bad night. She was up for a while, feeding. When I put her down, probably around 4:30 or later, I couldn't get to sleep. When C's alarm went off, I was still awake but it scared Eliza who cried forcefully. I took her and started to feed her. This quieted her and C kissed me good-bye. I sat in the glider, Eliza attached to me. She didn't want to stop nursing. Finally, figuring there must not be any more milk left, I detached her. She screamed and I guessed she probably needed something to suck on. At three weeks old, Eliza still spit the pacifier out so I stuck my finger in her mouth. C spent most of the prior Saturday with his finger in her mouth but for some reason my finger didn't placate her the way his did. Eventually I gave up and put her back on the boob. I figured she'd fall asleep and then I could as well. I was so tired, having only gotten about an hour or two of sleep the night before. I vowed to do nothing that day, just sleep when she slept. No shower, no clothes, no phone calls, nothing.

But she didn't fall asleep. I tried everything, putting her in the crib then taking her out of the crib. I put her in the swing then took her out of the swing, all the while that toy that makes a noise that sounds like pong felt like it was mocking me. At the time I was adamently opposed to co-sleeping so it tells you how tired I was when I gave up and climbed into bed with her on top of me. But she screamed and screamed. I again tried popping my finger in her mouth, then the pacifier, then the nipple of a bottle. I gave up and tried nursing her again. She jumped right on the boob and sucked away. It was so obvious she wasn't getting anything and still she sucked. I wondered what trick would get her to keep the pacifier in her mouth. The morning passed with this pattern unchanging, she'd nurse and nurse, I'd detach her and try to put her down, she'd scream, nurse some more. I would lie on the bed with her on my chest, she'd scream, I'd put her back on the boob. I desperately needed just a half hour nap. I'm a sleep camel, can go days without sleep but on this day my exhaustion felt like a vyse clamped on both sides of my face. I kept looking at the clock, waiting for it to get late enough for me to call my friend with six kids. She kept crying and in my exhaustion, I could feel anger surge through me and it scared me.

My father's a very angry person, often claims that his anger has in many ways ruined his life. He's not the type to get into bar fights or fender benders when some one cuts him off on the parkway. However, he is the type to bitch for three hours if some one steps in front of him in the check out line at the Foodtown. I love my father, he's a good father but I don't want to be like him. And I can't help it, I am. If some one doesn't hold the door open for me, I'm pissed off. If I can't get the guy at the meat counter to wait on me, I'll storm out of the store even if I'm starving. Yeah, I try the deep breaths because I know the person who didn't hold open the door or that butcher at the meat counter, they didn't even notice me. I know better than anyone that I'm the person who gets hurt by my anger.

I love my mother but sometimes she tells me too much. My older brother, Billy, is autistic and apparently one night my mother came home to find my father seated on the edge of the bed crying. Billy wailed in the nearby bassinet. When my mother asked, my father said, "he wouldn't stop crying so I just shook him and shook him and shook him." My mother then said, "everyone knows, you don't shake a baby." So now I'll be haunted all by life by the mental image of my father shaking my brother into autism. Sorry Mom, you're a great Mom but this is one story I never needed to hear.

And I'm like my father.

The hours passed and I dialed my friend, sure she could save me from getting too angry with my baby. I have to say while she screamed and I tried various ways to soothe her, I didn't want to hurt her, I was just so afraid I would. My friend's husband answered the phone and asked how I was doing. I told him Eliza wouldn't stop crying and I didn't know what to do. He laughed and said "welcome to parenthood."

He didn't get that this wasn't just mild distress and fatigue on my part, this was a desperate situation. My friend, I'll call her Jill, got on the phone. I told her what was going on and she gave me several holds to try, asked general questions. I told her Eliza seemed to want to nurse all day.

"Okay, well can you for just one day do that?" Consult the books and they'll tell you not to comfort your baby with the boob or else they'll never learn to sleep on their own. But the voice of actual experience, not clinical experience was advising me to get into bed with the side lying position and nurse her to sleep. When I told her why I was opposed to this, she said, "That's why I throw away those books."

"I'll try it," I said. "But I'm scared."

"It's hard when you don't know why they're crying but it's perfectly normal. It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with her."

"I don't think there is," I said. "I'm just afraid of me, what I could do with her."

"Oh, so you're thinking you could hurt her."

It was so, so hard to admit but I had to, had to help my baby, save my baby so to speak, from me.

"Yes."

"I remember when Timmy (her oldest) was a baby. I would stand at the top of the stairs and think, 'Gee I can just throw him over the bannister and no one would stop me.' It's a terrifying thing, to realize you have this much power over this little, tiny baby. I mean, how these babies do is entirely up to you. It's a tremendous power and we've never had it before."

"But Jill, you're so calm. I'm not like you. I get angry. I'm like my father."

"One of my friend's said, 'you don't know how often you'll look down at this great gift God gave you and just want to throw it into the wall.'"

I looked down at Eliza and could see her tiny, curled up body slamming against the bare walls of our apartment. It was horrifying to even think about. I didn't agree with Jill's friend. I didn't want to throw her up against the wall. I just was afraid I would get so angry, I would.

Jill assured me that it was hard, sometimes kids will try your patience and that it was normal to think you could be capable of something horrible. But she knew I wouldn't hurt my baby. I wanted to believe her but Jill loves me so much, I don't know if she sees the real me.

"If it's any consolation," Jill said. "She's really gorgeous."

I did hang up feeling a little better, that I wasn't alone in these dark thoughts. Jill had made an interesting point to about the idea of the power. As a small woman, I've never had a physical advantage over anyone. Now, I suddenly did and it frightened me. That kind of power, it's a responsibility.

Eliza continued to cry and I could tell she was tired. I tried putting her down in the crib in the bedroom while music blared in the living room but she only cried louder. I carried her around the apartment and shushed her. I swaddled her, I bounced her, I sang to her. I put her in the swing and finally, finally she fell asleep. I practically ran into the bedroom and dove onto the bed. I was there for about ten minutes before she started wailing. I waited a few more to see if she'd stop. She didn't. It was after noon now and I didn't know what to do so I dialed C.

"You can't keep doing this to me," I said. "She won't stop screaming."

"I'm not doing anything to you," he said, sounded annoyed. "This is part of what parenthood is about. You're going to have to learn to handle this."

I don't remember what we said. I know I asked him to come home and he refused, said he just got there. I'm pretty sure I hung up on him. I was really alone and I didn't know what to do. The day continued in more or less the same fashion. I don't think I ate, I know I didn't change out of my pajamas. I sat in the glider and nursed her a lot. This didn't seem to comfort her that much. Perhaps she was hungry and maybe I didn't have enough milk. We hadn't even tried to give her a bottle yet so the idea of giving her formula never occurred to me.

C called at some point to tell me his brother was coming around 5p so I could take a break. I don't like C's brother and the childless me would have said, "no, that's okay. I'm good." But the new mom in me somehow knew to take the help. I needed it.

"Okay," I said, not entirely grateful.

When C's brother showed up, I handed him the baby and went into the shower. With the water running, I couldn't hear her. I stood under the hot water and cried. Every now and then, I'd hear Eliza squawking. I finished the shower, went into the bedroom and called the pediatrician. It was Sunday so I didn't expect the doctor, but the 24 hour nurse service. I just wanted some reassurrance there wasn't anything seriously wrong with Eliza. The nurse asked me a series of random questions that had nothing to do with what was wrong with Eliza, then asked "How are you, are you thinking of hurting your baby."

"No," I said. Who the hell's gonna say yes to that question?

After I answered all her questions, the nurse said it didn't sound like anything was wrong with Eliza but to be sure I should take her to the emergency room. I panicked. I couldn't take her to the emergency room myself. I still couldn't push the stroller and the nearest hosptiatl was more than ten blocks away. It was December, cold and rainy. I didn't think C's brother would go with me. My mother's two hours away and in poor health herself. My other friends have kids and grad school and their own lives. I had no one. I had wanted reassurance and yet I got this answer. I didn't really think anything was wrong with Eliza. She was still squawking from the living room, just not as much.

I called C who told me the nurse worked for a company that was afraid of getting sued and they probably told everyone to go to the emergency room. He didn't think there was anything wrong with the baby. But how could I know for sure? He seemed annoyed that I'd interrupted him during his big outing with his other kids. I called my friend Kate, the mother of a strapping two year old, and briefed her on the situation. Like C, she felt if the baby didn't have a temperature (she didn't), I shouldn't take her to the hospital.

"But I'm not worried about her now I'm worried about you. You've been home all day with a screaming baby. Get out, get out of that apartment! She's with her uncle, go for a walk. Do something, anything. Walk around the block five times and when you get back you'll be amazed at how cute your baby is."

When I hung up I hadn't planned on following Kate's advice. Still clad in my bathrobe, I knew C's brother had to leave soon. It was December and as a grad student, I knew he had final papers due. But then I heard Eliza screaming and I put on some pants. I dashed out of the apartment, promising to return in about a half hour.

As I walked out the door and the wind hit me for the first time that day, I felt oddly free. It was drizzly and cold, I could see my breath in the air but all I could hear were cars passing, a random guy shouting into a cell phone, an electric cord banging the side of a building. I did not hear my baby cry. Suddenly it was a new night, a new world. I went to a nearby hot dog joint and wolfed down a hot dog and fries. It was nearly 7p and it was my first meal of the day. I sat there for a while, enjoying the cheesey lite FM station, the couple beside me who spoke German. They didn't know me, didn't know I had a baby who was apparently miserable and cried all day. If they looked at me they saw only a random woman with messy bed hair and droopy eyes, nothing more. I'd promised C's brother to be back by 7p but I couldn't bring myself to leave. I didn't know if I would find Eliza cute when I got home. I wasn't sure I could handle more hours of her screaming.

Kate's advice turned out to be some of the best advice I'd received. Eliza did seem a lot cuter when I returned. Not only did she look cuter, she looked calmer. Maybe she wouldn't spend the rest of the night screaming. C's brother placed her back in my arms and left around 7:30. I sat on the couch watching TV while she slept for a while.

The books and other parents will tell you if you need a break from the baby it's okay to put a crying baby down for a few minutes while you do something relaxing. I believe one book suggests checking your email or listening to music. Though everyone urges you not to let a baby cry for too long, it's acknowledged that short periods of crying in a safe place (crib, bassinet) are better for you as a parent. The problem in a small apartment is there's nowhere to go where I can't hear her. And as the crying intensifies it becomes to hit you like an accusation--you're a bad parent, you're not helping me.

The books also say if you think you might hurt your child, get help immediately. My mother lives two hours away and isn't in great health. My father probably would come if I called but he's also two hours away and I'm not sure I trust him with a screaming infant. C's parents live four hours away. Most of my friends have kids so they can't drop everything and head over. So if you are afraid you might hurt your child, who do you do if you have no one? I would have never thought of C's brother but in this case, it did turn out to be the elixir. And before he left that night, he gave me his number in case I needed to call again. I hate asking for anyone for help, particularly people who don't know me well. I feel like it's a weakness. But I realized that day, if I'm going to be a good parent to Eliza, I will have to ask for help.

She woke up screaming again around nine. For two hours, we went through the routine of nursing, walking, rocking, singing, swaddling. Nothing worked, she cried and cried. Around eleven, I put her in the bed alongside me and started to read a short story while she screamed. She screamed and screamed and then suddenly, mid-scream, she stopped. I looked at her terrified she'd given herself a heart attack but she was passed out, her mouth open, her breath audible. That was it.

I continued to read, certain she'd be up in ten minutes, screaming. She continued to sleep. Finally, around midnight, I turned out the light. C got home later and moved her to the crib. She slept that night, maybe woke up to feed once, I'm not sure, then slept through to the morning.

There's more to this story but I realize this entry is entirely too long. I will have to leave you here, a written cliff-hanger so to speak, to see if the next day was a virtual repeat of this one and the limits it pushed me to accept.