Tomorrow will be three weeks since R made his grand debut.
He’s beautiful. Dark hair, chubby cheeks, sweet, milky smiles. Perfection.
I’m having a hard time putting into words…having a hard time admitting….
I don’t know that I’ve really bonded with him. I’m angry, resentful, and I’ve had some dark thoughts in the past week. (I will not harm my baby, and my husband knows all of this.)
Realistically, I expected to be a little overwhelmed by two kids, and I expected G to be a shithead about having to share attention. He hasn’t been: he’s been fantastic, but he has been a little needier, which makes things challenging.
R isn’t a bad baby, but he’s a vastly different baby than his brother was. With G, nursing came easily for both of us. He latched with minimal problems, was full, I never had super sore/cracked nipples. Not so much with R-man. He was what the nurses deemed a “lazy” eater. He didn’t want to open his mouth enough to latch properly, which led to cracked, bloody nipples within the first 12 hours.
And his sleep patterns are different. For the better part of the past week he’s cluster fed…a couple nights from 10-1. Yes. Ten at night to one in the morning feeding nearly constantly.
He’s putting on weight, and deliciously chunky.
But, I feel like I’m doing something wrong. He’s also a spitter, fussy after eating, and won’t take a fucking pacifier unless his mood is just right.
Tired is a factor in my feelings, or fear of feelings I don’t know I’ve developed.
I’m overwhelmed by all the expectations on me currently: school work, newborn, toddler, family commitments. I feel like I’m drowning.
And it’s one of those things that’s really hard to admit aloud, because people assume I’m doing something wrong (or I assume that’s what they’ll do). I feel like a failure.
I’ve been blessed with nearly perfect babies–seriously, my newborns are beautiful, and that’s not just mom pride. They have both been healthy, content, strong babies.
But…lately, I feel empty, exhausted, angry, resentful. I’m angry at my husband, I’m angry at R, I’m resentful of the life I chose to live. I’m hella angry and resentful at/about my job. My heart hurts for G, who I feel is getting the short end of the stick. And I feel like people have these unrealistic expectations for G to suddenly grow up because he has a little sibling–he’s just three after all. And then I wonder if I’m failing as a parent because my heart hurts for G: shouldn’t I be wrapped up in newborn snuggles and soaking in the smell, because this is without a doubt my last one?
I know a lot of this is textbook postpartum depression. I have made an appointment with my counselor.
I’m terrified of my feelings. I’m terrified that I’m failing as a mom of two. I’m terrified R will feel like I don’t love him as much as I love G. I’m terrified my husband is going to think I can’t do this.
It all just feels like too much.