I can calmly deal with a traffic accident. The Husband lost control in his car yesterday morning and was T-boned on the passenger side. He is totally and completely fine save a scrape and a bruise on his leg. The car, however, is dead. We had to pay the second wrecker to arrive to the accident $140 bucks (nearly cleaning out our bank account) to pry apart the two vehicles. But since he spent the day at home he received an email on his personal account notifying him that his recent job application was denied on the due date and he was able to fix it and verify the application was received and approved for review. I can totally see the good side in that.
But I try throwing a boob and a baby together - arguably the most "natural" thing in the world - and my entire universe becomes unglued. Case in point, this afternoon. I'm alone in the house and trying to feed The Elliot (birth story/pictures/oohing and aahing post to follow when I'm a little less insane) with apparently the flattest nipple to ever exist and he's screaming. I suddenly decide it's not fair that he gets to be the only one to voice some frustration over the situation and I let out this primal, evil, possibly throat-damaging yell and hold it until I'm concerned I'll pop some blood vessels in my eyes. Funny - it worked. He stopped screaming long enough to latch on and finally eat.
But this is not an isolated incident or frustration. I totally want to give in. I'm tired of this - the bad days definitely outweigh the good and I just want my kid to eat well. And don't give me any of the horseshit about pumping; I tried it to relieve engorgement and it's totally not the same thing. I want to do this and am stubborn about getting it right and not giving in to formula. But some days it really feels like all roads lead to Similac.
At this point I'm evil. Yesterday morning after 40 minutes of trying to get him to eat I simply put him back in the bassinet and went downstairs. I cried and refused to feed him for probably another 45 minutes, during which time The Husband thought he was helping by trying to get me talk (to him and really just in general because I was just sitting there crying and looking at the tv that was off) but really just led me to express my dire hatred for him. Luckily he knew I wasn't in my right mind. Last night The Elliot wanted to eat every hour for a period of about 5-6 hours from 8 pm to 1 or 2 in the morning and I was having trouble sleeping anyway due to pure exhaustion and the fact that The Husband was snoring. So I had finally gotten to sleep and The Elliot started. The Husband started snoring louder. And I exploded inside. I don't even remember the things I said, but he left to sleep downstairs. And I was glad. The Elliot finished eating and finally went to sleep and so did I, only to be awoken at 5:30 to take The Husband to work. And the thing is, I wasn't upset about taking him to work that early, waking up the kids to do so. But I bet that if I had already been up and attempting to feed or feeding The Elliot when The Husband needed to go, one of us would have lost a testicle.
