Colic is over. (Praise God.) After 9 weeks, I'm starting to see glimpses of an adorable, kissable baby peeking through instead of a screaming, flailing burden. Yeah, I know it's just WRONG to refer to your baby as a burden, but whatever. A colicky baby isn't a joy--and if you're the type of woman who can feel all maternal and blissed out during it here's a news flash: I'm not you. And I'm sick of feeling guilty because I'm not measuring up to other moms who are happy and fulfilled by motherhood. Just plain old motherhood? Really? I'm sick of wondering if I'm unfeminine or unnatural or a selfish ass because I'm not content as a SAHM.
But I'm going off on a tangent...back to the colic issue...
Elodie has a dimple. It took me 9 weeks before I saw enough spontaneous whole face smiles (instead of screaming) to verify that yes, she does have one dimple that gives her an adorable lopsided grin. After I saw it, I almost burst into tears because if I had a *normal* baby who didn't scream for 6 whole weeks I would have found it earlier. Then I felt swamped with guilt because colic isn't her fault and she is *normal*. Then I had to push the entire thought cluster out of my head because damn it I refuse to go there.
I have to go through the same process every time I walk down the steps with Elodie and the thought "If I dropped her she would DIE" bursts into my head by the third step. Or, when I set her car seat down in front of the coffee bar at church and suddenly imagine someone dropping a cup of scalding coffee on her head. Or when a friend holds her a little awkwardly and I have to go in the other room to keep from snatching her away and screaming, "Give her to me! I can see you dropping her!"
Bitch be goin' crazy.
I'm so scared of depression sneaking up on me again that I find myself doing stupid things to "ward it off". Like...making sure I'm dressed with full hair and makeup. I remember those days of stinky funk with baby Elizabeth when I couldn't shower or take care of myself--so even if it takes me until 4 pm to slap on foundation--I do it. Or how about my fixation with making the beds? Because, in my head, non-depressed people are excellent housekeepers and the state of my bedroom is a perfect reflection of my mental state. *facepalm*
Kevin assures me that I am okay because the really crazy people don't know they're messed up. The fact that I know I'm psycho is a good thing? Apparently?
So instead of depression I have anxiety and just want someone to give me meds and make all this *waves hand in circles over everything in front of face* hazy and muffled. Has anyone invented soma yet? (Shout out to Dave Price's English class.) Some nights 7 pm hits and I just want to rage and scream and throw a glass into the sink like a PMS-ing 12 year old because I've had enough.
Oh, and tonight? Tonight. Yes, tonight, Elizabeth screamed at me because I didn't wash her precious Greeny Blanket in time for bed and she cried, "Why didn't you wash it today?" and I said, "Gee, I don't know! Maybe because I have to watch a baby all day?" Then she screamed in my face, "You should have done it when she slept!" and I lost it and screamed back, "I DON'T HAVE TO ANSWER TO YOU!" and almost...almost...this so makes me want to cry...almost added "little bitch."
I'm such an example of Christian motherhood right now. ( All the cussing on my blog really proves that). I want to change into something better but I don't know how. I don't know why I'm not like all the other moms who are content. Sure, they struggle, but they don't spend their days counting down the hours until their husband comes home and their shift ends. (In fact, I'm pretty sure they don't see their kids as a "shift" in the first place.)
I want contentment. I want peace. I want to enjoy my children and just calm down but I can't get there.
*deep heaving sigh*
I should have just posted a cute baby picture with a caption reading LOVING LIFE!!!!! but I wanted to try to put my thoughts into words.
It didn't work. This whole post is a hot mess.
FAIL.
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