My Baby is the Most Demanding Boss I've Ever Had

Wilder sucks a lemon

I am a woman who lived 35 years on this earth - eating, drinking, sleeping, working, reading, laughing, loving, traveling, taking photos - all for myself. I led my life. I thought a lot, brain always whirring, about absolutely everything. Today I am a woman, now 36 years old, who exists to nurture my baby. I have thrown myself into this job like a workaholic. 

Wilder is a demanding boss. He requires a 168-hour work week, including all nights and weekends. I can’t daydream too much or he’ll bonk his head on something or eat cat poop. I can no longer keep track of the little things. I’m so forgetful. I have a very real condition known as “baby brain.” 

Baby brain is discombobulating. The U.S. should adopt one year paid family leave for both parents - not just because it would be “nice” to have that time off with your new baby - because it is nearly impossible to be a fully functional part of society while caring for a brand new little one. I was a perfectionist in my past, childless life. I had particular ideas about how my life should be, and I was able to make it so. Not anymore. 

Picnicking at the San Lorenzo River, Felton

Our path has been nothing like I once imagined the beginnings of my adult family. Surviving Wilder’s extreme prematurity - and his 3.5 months of hospitalization - was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. When he came home 11 months ago I had to stay home with him, because his health is too fragile to attend daycare. He sees too many medical specialists to list. 

Despite the challenges, he is thriving, and I am so proud of him. I’m also proud of myself for all the hard work I’ve done. I know I won’t be singularly focused on my son forever. This is a unique time in our lives. A time in which I can watch him play and marvel at his rapid development.

Even though I love watching him play, the new mom struggle is real. I battle boredom, frustration, exhaustion, and anger. The perfectionist in me boils beneath the surface when Wilder smears cottage cheese and squash all over his clean outfit. I feel trapped when he demands that I sit on the floor with him and I wish I could read, go on facebook, wash dishes, or do anything that involves me moving freely about the house instead. I get angry when he bites my nipples.

Walking at Wilder Ranch on Christmas day

Yes, that’s been happening for about six weeks - nipple biting. I’ve discussed it with friends, lactation consultants, a nurse, doctors, and an occupational therapist, but none of their advice has worked to stop this terrible habit. I broke down sobbing yesterday, feeling helpless, as tears streamed down his screaming face because he wanted to nurse, yet I could not offer him the breast again because he had just chomped on it. 

For all the challenges, there are many triumphs. Luckily, he is also using those chompers to eat solid foods like a champ. The specialists never expected him to breastfeed at all, but we proved them wrong. The doctors said there was a chance he would have cerebral palsy because of brain bleeds at birth, but his motor skills have turned out to be excellent. 

Slinky - who knew they were for babies?

Becoming a mother has changed my life in a way that it was impossible to comprehend before experiencing it. Even though Wilder is a demanding boss, I don’t question him. It’s the most natural thing in the world for me to care for him. I’m good at it. I need to get a babysitter though. I need more time for myself. I want to write more and take the intensity down a notch for our family. Wise people tell me I need to care for myself so I can care for him.