For a lot of reasons, it's been a hard week.
It's like, eight at night is just the time that I start crying. You know, all scheduled-like--cook dinner, flip the laundry, cry for an hour, brush my teeth, go to bed.
I blame the weather a little. (I've always had a touch of seasonal affective disorder-y-ness, I think.) I blame PMS-y hormones some. But mostly I blame the emotional roller coaster ride that is being a new mommy.
I want to go back to work, but I know I'm going to miss the Kiddo like crazy once I do. I want to get my garden planted, but I can't figure out how to even take a shower without him crying. I want to go out, but there's no one to go out with at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday. And it's so much work just getting out the front door that it's not really worth it to go out alone.
Today, however, was a good day. Partly because it's Friday, and I know I have a weekend of my very favorite help and company--that would be Sweet Husband--to look forward to. Partly because I got to take one of my very oldest friends out for his birthday lunch. Partly because we ate outside, and it was sixty-five degrees and sunny. But mostly because, this evening, for the first time, I felt like the Kid really might be starting to love me back.
In the weeks after the Kiddo was born, Sweet Husband was so good at taking care of him. He's the most amazing father--and I'm so, so glad that he is--but it was hard for me. I couldn't breastfeed the Kid, or even bottle feed him to start with. I couldn't get his diapers to work right. I was incredibly nervous every time we took him out of the house, and Sweet Husband was so mellow and good at it all....It wasn't that I wanted to be better at being a parent, but I felt like I wasn't even in the running. (I know, right? All you mothers out there who can't get your guy to change one dirty diaper are just weeping for me, I'm sure!)
But tonight, right about at my usual crying time, the Kiddo started screaming. And I mean screaming. Inconsolably. Sweet Husband was trying to feed him or walk with him or anything to make him stop. Nothing was working, so I offered to give it a shot.
It was like magic. We paced two or three times across the living room, he calmed down enough to eat a little, and then he drifted off to sleep on my lap. And the only difference was that it was me. It was all I could do not to shout out, "You like me! You really like me!"
Of course, then Sweet Husband did his voo-doo-thing where he puts the Kid in his crib and he doesn't wake up five minutes later...but it's all about the small victories.