This is another one of those posts where I am gonna whine and indulge in hormonal self-pity balderdash, so if you are not currently sitting in a dark room, chain smoking Marlboro Reds and listening to The Cure, you probably are going to be annoyed and have the urge to smack me and utter "Snap out of it!" Which is fine. You can do that tomorrow. But for now, I'm suggesting you take your perky happy self elsewhere.
I've heard over and over that bringing a new baby into the the mix will be "trying" or "hard" but that it gets easier. And I know that I can be a wuss. So I don't know if I am being a wuss, or if people aren't telling the truth, or I am just totally fucking lucky. But bringing a new baby home is like jumping into a volcano. Of acid. With open wounds. Naked. While being bombarded with country music. In other words, from this little portion of the universe, parenting two sucks right now. Surprisingly, it isn't TD that I am struggling with, oh no, she is easy peasy and the antithesis of LB at her age. In fact, she is napping. On her own. And during this nap I have showered, shaved (and what does it say that it has been so long since I shaved that my razor was RUSTY when I went to use it - which, incidentally I did, because my tetanus is up-to-date and I am a risk taker), cleaned out my maternity clothes, and started this blog post. Good baby, no?
It, life, the here and now, it sucks because LB thinks I am the anti-Christ and would rather hit me, throw food at me, kick me, or tell me to go fuck myself (in toddler speak, she lacks my refined vocabulary). I have no concern that I am ruining her life. Instead, I feel as if I am ruining our relationship. And just typing that makes me cry and also take a step back and say, Really Drama Queen? And yes, Inner Monologue, really, so shut it. In the last few weeks of my pregnancy LB was testing me. Asserting her independence and will of iron. So it is no surprise that she is continuing to do that now. But it still hurts. It hurts when she won't hug me or kiss or cuddle with me. It hurts when sees me coming and runs the other way. It hurts that she so totally tunes me out that my voice is silent to her. It hurts when I try to feed her and she would rather shake her head violently, throwing everything to the floor and kicking so hard she sends her highchair across the room. It hurts that starving is more appealing that being with me. It hurts when I grab her, go for a hug or cuddle and hold on as hard as I can, despite the fact that it feels like my retarded boobs are being sheered with glass, and she writhes away from me with all of her strength. It hurts when the one second of the day that she wants to relent and give in and acknowledge me is when I am nursing her sister and have to distance us because LB has a cold and I don't want TD to catch it. And it makes me angry. With her and with myself. It makes me seethe because I am trying. I am. I am trying everything I (and the internet, and the random people I've asked for insight) can think of. And yet. And yet I find myself yelling at her, pleading with her, walking away from her with the tears streaming down my face because I am so frustrated and I know I am making the situation worse. I want to cuddle with her and I want to giggle with her and I want her to know that I absolutely love and adore her with every fiber of my being but I don't know how to bridge the chasm that seems to be in the way. I have to say, that right now, right now parenting two sucks. It is heart breaking and draining and gives you puffy eyes.
(ETA: I realize that with all of my woe-is-me, it might sound like I am alone here on Mt. Pity Party. And I am totally not. My husband is being awesome and doing everything he can to make things better. From cooking and cleaning and fetching me water and cookies to taking TD in another room to give LB and me alone time, or rather LB time to practice her throwing accuracy. Unfortunately all of his helpful awesomeness does not include mind control over LB.)