it hardly seems like it’s been a week already, or only a week. The time doesn’t fly, it blurs. (Oh yes, and I’m typing this one handed while Daphne sucks on a boob, so who knows the typos I’ll have.)

“It’ll get better,” is such lovely, generic advice. “It’ll get different,” perhaps. We thought we were getting into the “better” stage. After one of the later feedings (sometime between 8 and 10pm), Jason will take Daphne, and try to keep her… well, awake or asleep doesn’t matter – away from me for three to four hours. Sine he doesn’t lactate anyway, I take the feedings and try to keep her quiet – or I’ll head out of the room – so he can get nearly a full night of sleep. (We have a co-sleeper attached to our bed, so if she’s cooperative, I don’t have to get out of bed to feed her. It’s got the potential to be absolutely wonderful, and some nights, it has been.) This has worked twice.

But then there were two nights of incessant crying. Ok, it’s not fair to call it incessant, because she’d stop if you did something – changed positions or holds or a new movement patter – but then she’d start again. For hours. The first time she did this, after three hours, I just headed upstairs (after staying downstairs to try to let Jason sleep) and said “Your turn. I’m done.” It’s so very frustrating to figure out what an infant wants, and when you think you know (hey, she’s rooting, and making those mouth movements and that little cry/whine she gives when she’s hungry, she must be hungry!) but you’re wrong – well, at least, it’s not right (no, no, my stomach is unhappy, and I just wanted a nipple to suck on until I’m too unhappy for that and try to rip your boob off your body). These are the times you don’t want to, but you’re too tired, and you take that stern voice to your baby in a hopelessly futile way “What? What do you want? I know you don’t want food, you’ve been bouncing back and forth boob to boob without really eating.”

You try the advice – the 5 S’s: swaddling (but oh god is she squirmy, and just roots more and continues to make stink faces after being swaddled), sidelying (honestly, despite all the advice against it, she often gets to sleep – propped appropriately – on her side, particularly in the cosleeper; she’s much happier there), shh’ing (works great, until you stop longer than the length of time it takes to get a breath for your next shh), swaying (well, find the right rhythmic movement, and be prepared to change it every five minutes as she changes her mind about what she wants), and sucking (oh, the great debate! pacifier, finger, nipple-confusion, latch problems… it’s a can of worms I tell ya!). You try the gripe water. You try walking. Everything that works only works for a little while and you’re back to squre one, never having gotten a sleeping baby. Which, I have to add, is 10 times worse at night, when it’s dark, than during the middle of the day.

I continue to be very thankful for our doula, Kate, as she’s continued to offer us advice, which we try, with varying success, but gives us *something* to try doing. I realize this was probably partially our doing, the crying stints, as we hadn’t really been burping her – I had understood breastfed babies to need less burping and she seemed to be perfectly happy to be put down after eating. Well, either I was wrong, things change, or both. Burping a baby, however, is one other thing “they” don’t say a damn thing about. I don’t think it’s fundamentally any easier than breastfeeding, though it’s certainly a lot less painful (for the parent, definitely). Daphne, at least, has very little interest in burping, and if you keep her in the “over the shoulder burp” position too long, she starts rooting for food and bobbing her head – which makes keeping her from falling sideways tricky. We’re working on a good technique for us, but she still isn’t a big burper.

The other suspicion I had was something I consumed bothered her. At the moment, there is a sebaceous cyst on the back of my neck. It’s been there for nearly a year, but we didn’t do anything for it during the pregnancy because we wanted to wait until she was born. But about a week and a half after delivery, when I’m still in no state of mind to take care of anything but the immediate, either the cyst or a hair follicle right next to it became inflammed. Think almost ping-pong ball sized bump of painful inflammation approximately an inch away from your spine half way down your neck. Since side (or stomach) sleeping doesn’t work with freshly lactating boobs (mine, anyway – another thing they don’t tell you – you might not get to choose your sleeping positions after birth either!), it makes sleeping on your back less than comfortable. After much this and that, a doctor put me on antibiotics for it – a questionable move, but one of the options. It was the next night that she started going unhappy. Of course, it was also the same night I had my first post-baby spicy curry. And my first cup of green tea.

Only in hindsight can I say that there’s a chance it’s the curry (based on a similar, but not so bad stint, after I had leftovers for breakfast a day later), but it might also be the antibiotics (which, for the first time in my life, I stopped very early on). So, now I get to try to figure out what I’m eating that might bother her, and try to avoid it before I know what it is so that we don’t go through this again.

In theory, in three weeks, things get better. I’m keeping my fingers and toes cross and knocking on wood.