Where Has My Patience Gone?
I'd become a very patient man in the past few years. Sometimes life, like bus connections on a Sunday, is more complicated than it should be. About the only thing that really still got me going was queuing and governmental visa hoops—I despise waiting in lines.
But my patience is wearing thin these days; I wake up with maybe 15% of the tolerance I had a year ago. I don't like it.
Aidric, my infant son: The depriver of sleep, the fastidious eater, the stress-giving time burglar, the demolisher of patience. The past seven months have worn me down considerably.
My internal batteries never recharge enough while he sleeps, for it's only during these times that I can find the peace to focus on the personal (at the sacrifice of my own slumber). I am not a morning person, and his wakeup calls a mere four or five hours after I fall asleep are not enjoyable.
Maybe babies are only meant for morning people.
This is a non-traditional North American situation. We are always in a shared living environment. There is no baby room. There is no buffer. My space is his space—the family's space.
There's chaos, disorder, toys, and baby supplies in every corner of the room and our lives. There's the smell of used diapers, the clothing stains from spattered foodstuffs, and the perpetual walking on eggshells—for the fury that comes down from the little man that's disturbed or moody is enough to bring a titan to his knees.
Attempting a new feeding technique with a fussy Aidric today—my belt keeps him from throwing himself out of the chair.
Aidric is our lord and master. When he is happy, his servants are content and joyful. When he is angry, his servants are miserable. To what ends must we placate to his desires without establishing a baseline for such activities in the future? He's learning and absorbing every day, why not that?
This is something I buttheads with Tatiana on frequently—at what age do you start setting expectations with a child, rejecting their demands? When is an infant no longer a baby, but a child knowingly manipulating or throwing a tantrum to get what he wants? Kids are very smart, and Aidric is as stubborn as his father is.
I wish this were as complicated as it was going to get, but I know it's only the beginning. I'm very much looking forward to the age where the language skills kick in, and the ambiguous guessing game of cries comes to an end.
Thank God Tatiana is here. I have the utmost respect for single parents.