Down

I'm sitting here, wolfing down a bowl of leftovers while the child wails in the Swing of Despair in the front hallway. I've got the music turned up on the computer, trying to drown out what's been the seemingly non-stop soundtrack of my life since Todd hopped on an airplane Monday morning. I've not slept longer than an hour and half at a time since Sunday, and the sheer exhaustion is taking its toll on me. I'm trying very very hard not to join in on the crying, because, let's face it, there's just not enough chocolate for this shit.

I wanted to enjoy motherhood, and I do, sometimes. But it is just so overwhelming hard so much of the time, and I feel so...cheated. This is nothing like I expected. The good moments are everything I hoped for, but they're so fleeting. I honestly feel like I've stumbled into a trap, one baited by every parenting magazine cover and diaper commercial ever made, and I'm seriously considering gnawing off my leg here.

I didn't mean for this post to be a whine-fest, but there it is. This is how I'm feeling, this is what life is like right now. In just a minute, I'll go collect the screaming baby from his swing. I'll change him, feed him, rock him, and kiss his head while he cries, claws, and thrashes the entire time. I'll listen to his endless howling and do my best to comfort him. I'll forget that I'd rather be anywhere than here right now. I'll be his mother.

But it is so goddamn hard.