Ever have one of those moments where you think “Yeah, this kid is awesome but I don’t know what God was thinking… she’s got zero chance of coming out of this childhood unscathed.”
This evening I escaped from my bedroom and went to stand in the silent downstairs and be alone with the idea that maybe I should never have had a kid; that this was a very, very bad idea. Not because I don’t adore her, or because I don’t think she’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, but because there’s no way I’m going to get it right. She is this amazing treasure, this tiny gift, and I am known for fucking things like that up.
Tonight she was a little fussier than usual. I’ve been dealing with a lot more anxiety than normal. “She’s very intuitive, you know, she’s affected by your emotions,” my mother tell me, every well meaning woman seems to tell me, “if you’re stressed she’s going to pick up on that.” She wouldn’t stay asleep tonight, kept waking up. She was too full to feed again and nothing else seemed to work. I was frutrated. Jason took her downstairs. My anxiety grew. She was down there crying some time later so I called them back. Jason handed her to me as I uttered a frutrated “for fucks sake!”. Mabel was crying and not easily comforted. A quick offer to nurse was refused, a more insistent offer rejected. Anxious, stressed, irritated… “Mabel, I just can’t handle this okay, I just can’t!” She began to scream like I have never heard her scream before. Inconsolabe, wounded, broken screaming. She’s intuitive, she can pick up on what I’m feeling. There’s no way I’m going to do right by her. She’s this perfect gift, this tiny little treasure and I have no idea how to not fuck that up. She’s sleeping now, finally, but I’m shaken.
I asked my doctor for zoloft but I’m scared to take it. I bought every supplement ever suggested for the baby blues today, or at least the amount on the receipt would seem to indicate such, but it’s too soon for it to work. I keep a tiny bit of marijuana in the house for just this sort of endless anxiety emergency but can’t bring myself to smoke it; I’m dealing with a diminishing milk supply and I read smoking pot can make it worse.
I’m afraid to hold her, I feel guilty when she cries. I’m certain she’s reading every mood and responding, insulted. I think I should just switch to formula to ease my stress and anxiety and allow for a bit of a buffer between us. I wish I’d never heard, never known, how easily she can pick up on what I’m feeling.
This little perfect gift, my tiny little treasure…I’m terrified I’m going to fuck us all up.