Being Kendra_ Cribs, Cocktails, and Getting My Sexy Back - Kendra Wilkinson [28]
Nights were even lonelier. I would be down in the living room—it was a two-story house and we let the baby sleep anywhere (we never gave him a specific place to sleep really)—at four A.M. breast pumping. So I’d creak down the stairs, open the fridge, get the breast suctions and bottles, and pump my boobs in the dark, all the while trying to keep my eyes open. Hearing the breast pump and the drip of the milk was like Chinese water torture every night; I was the only one awake, all alone, repeating the same mundane steps over and over again every night. I was watching the baby sleep peacefully while Hank was upstairs sleeping; it was like I was the only one in the world awake, and all the while the pump was going chug chug, chug chug and the milk was going drip drip into the bottle. The wind was banging up against the thin windows; it was about 40 degrees in our house unless you were standing next to one of our fifteen portable heaters, and the sun was about to start rising in around 180 minutes, and I’d yet to get two consecutive hours of sleep.
There would be nights too where I would purposely wake up Hank because I was so jealous he got to sleep. I felt really alone. I was so tired and miserable and without help I’d just give a little cough and he’d pop his head up to see what I was up to. That was my evil side taking over.
I had no sleep for a full month. I didn’t initially hire help or a night nurse because I said to myself, “I don’t need help, I don’t need a nanny. I’m doing this myself.” I brought that baby home and I took on the role of being a new mom the day after I had a C-section all by myself. Hank was working hard playing for the Indianapolis Colts and I was working hard being a stay-at-home mom. I wanted to be put to the test. I wanted to show people that I was going to do this on my own without help. It was a matter of pride, and I felt like I had a lot to prove.
But that schedule of waking Hank Jr. and feeding him every three hours hit me hard, and during a twenty-four-hour period, I would average about two and half hours of sleep. As soon as I’d finally fade to sleep, I’d have to wake back up again. This went on for about a month. I have ADD, so once I was up I would wander around the house or look outside or just kill time. Sleeping became something of the past, a sort of fuzzy memory, something only “Hanks” got to do.
A month went by and I was fried. It became harder and harder to string a sentence together and remember what I was doing when I entered a room. I knew that I needed help. I was not only taking care of the baby but shooting a show on top of it. Here I was taking care of baby Hank with a sense of obligation. It had nothing to do with love or a desire to care for him. I was changing that kid’s diaper because he couldn’t do it himself. I was feeding him a bottle or my boob because I was taught to take care of those in need. I was running off of obligation but I wasn’t loving him or anyone. I was angry at the world and my love for everybody was starting to fade away and diminish. Imagine that when your baby is crying you just shove a pacifier in his mouth to quiet him instead of giving him a hug. That is when I got help.
I finally gave in and hired a night nurse, Genie. She was from Indianapolis and recommended by my ob-gyn Dr. Webber. I didn’t love the word “nanny,” but I loved the word “nurse”! Even better, a night nurse! A nanny felt too much like I was having someone take care of my kid. A nurse felt like I just had someone around to help because I had never done it before. Genie was older and had kids of her own. I could tell immediately having