I don’t like babies.

Dearest Gus,

Why won’t you stop crying? All day. All night. You’re clean. You’ve been fed. You are driving me crazy.

I don’t like babies.

Please don’t misunderstand, I love you, my beautiful baby boy, but I don’t like you right now. It’s not personal. I don’t like any babies at your age.

If we could fast-forward a few months and just skip this newborn, exploratory phase where you learn how to use your digestive system and you strengthen your muscles, I would probably have a million of you.

I need to know why you are crying and when you can start to tell me, I will start to like you more. Why can’t we just talk about it?

I don’t like your demanding schedule. You are a dictator.

You have this desperate, high-pitched almost banshee-like scream that you use to tell me that you have no idea where your next meal will come from.

Hi, yes, over here. Me. The same person who fed you before. Look around, everyone is obviously fed in this house. We promise not to forget about you. Please, you need to calm down.

For seven weeks now, I have taken the night shift. Every night, you wake me up, usually after only two hours, with that screeching and a full diaper. I change you and feed you in the dark while everyone else is snoring. Can’t you see that crying all night is not the norm around here?

I don’t like that you want me to hold you all. of. the. time. You would rather be touching me than sleeping in your own bed or practicing your tummy time. I can’t take a shower without hearing you scream for me from the bedroom.

You are cuddly but with your brother and sister, who live and scream here too, I can’t just sit and hold you all day. And with your endless-bottomed stomach, you’ve packed on the pounds and are too heavy for me to wear.

I do appreciate your efforts to get me out of the house to exercise. Because one of the only times you don’t cry is when I am pushing you in the stroller, we are logging a lot of miles. You must have noticed all of my baby crying-induced stress eating.

However, I am afraid that this rainy and cold winter is going to cause the neighbors to call DHS. I am sure they wonder about what kind of mother walks the newborn in this weather every day.

You have blessed us with a gift. You complete our family. After your sister was born, we weren’t sure. After your short time here with us, we are now have absolute clarity and are sure. Surer than we have ever been. Very firm in that sure. Rock solid sure, actually.

I want to thank you for the smiles you give to me each morning. It is incredible, the way you are able to wipe the slate of last night and yesterday clean with your crooked smile and coos in the early hours.

As the sun is rising and the others in the house are starting to stir, you have already done your part to get me motivated to do it all again another day.

I love you, Gassy Gusjamin, and I don’t like you. I don’t want to wish these days away, but man, I am ready for you to grow up just a little bit.

Please, please just go to sleep,

P.S. I can’t believe you are already seven weeks old! Please stop growing so fast! (See, I told you that you are driving me crazy.)

3 Comments Add yours

  1. thenewagedad says:

    I completely feel your state. My wife and I went through sleepless nights for three years.


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