General Fussmonster, or, "You can't live your whole life on a bouncy ball, son."

So, I hear that the 6-8 week period can be the worst. That infants get more fussy around this time, and then they get better. All part of the 4th trimester, I suppose.

Eliot has indeed gotten more fussy. He still has his very sweet and wonderful times, too. And I know he doesn't want to be fussy. It is usually for a reason having to do with gas, acid reflux, or being overtired because he didn't sleep very well during the day. It tends to be worse in the evening, which is a bummer for Brady because Eliot and I generally sleep until about 8 or 9 am, after Brady has gone to work, and so Brady only gets to spend evenings with Eliot, and Eliot is usually fussy then. The bouncy ball (those big inflatable physicial therapy balls you can bounce on) is the only thing that reliably calms him down. Or taking him for a walk in the front carrier/Moby wrap. The other night, Brady said to Eliot, "You can't live your whole life on a bouncy ball." Thankfully, as with everything else with children, this too shall pass.

Eliot's cranky times have led me to call him several of the following names:

Fussmonster
General Fussmonster
Captain Crankypants
Fussalotamus
Fussypuss
Sergeant Screamer

Unfortunately, since the fussiest times happen at night, Brady ends up feeling like his son hates him, which I have assured him is not the case. Eliot doesn't even know what hate is, yet. And plus, Eliot loves bath time with Daddy. And Daddy is really good at laying him down to bed in his bassinette -- very gentle, very patiently waiting until Eliot is deeply asleep, very softly putting him into a bed warmed by the heating pad.

For my part, I am working on trying to get Eliot to nap for at least a little bit before Brady gets home, and I try to feed Eliot right before Brady gets home, so there is the maximum possible chance that he won't fuss it up right when Dad arrives and Dad can get some happy time with the boy. Also, this maximizes the chance that Eliot will be in a good mood for Dad to feed him with a bottle. Eliot hasn't quite taken to the bottle yet. Every few days I pump a few ounces of milk (I think pumping is a serious pain in the butt), so that Brady can work on introducing the bottle to Eliot. Eliot has taken a little bit of milk from the bottle. We have learned that I have to leave the room and close the door so that Eliot can't smell me. And Brady has to feed him downstairs, as opposed to upstairs where I usually nurse him. Both things help Eliot disassociate the bottle from me, which makes it easier for him too learn it. Otherwise I think he gets confused.

In other news, today I went to a yoga class again for the first time since Eliot arrived. There is a Moms and Babies class near me where you can go until your baby is crawling. Moms come and set their babies up next to them either on a blanket, or in a bouncy chair. I thought for sure Eliot would not tolerate not being held for an hour and a half during class. I figured I would get to do very little actual yoga. But, he surprised me! General Fussmonster was a dream. It helped that the class is in the morning (10:30), when Eliot is usually at his best. For the first 30 mins, he was happy in a blanket next to me. For the next 45 minutes, he sat next to me in a bouncy chair. He got slightly fussy sometimes, but I would just pop his pacifier back in his mouth and bounce his chair some, and he would be appeased. He needed to be picked up by the end of class, so I did Sivasana (the pose at the end where you are just lying on your back, relaxing and resting) with him on my chest.

And now, he just finished nursing, and he is fast asleep on my lap and I don't want to move him and break the spell. So, I am shackled to the couch for a little while. :-/ When I start to complain about him not napping on his own, though, I try to remember that this too shall pass, and when it does, I will probably reminisce about the days when all he wanted to do was be close to me and be held. Because some day, he will want exactly the opposite.