In Which I Bitch and Share TMI
11:08 a.m. - 2005-11-28

Boy, one week with my family turns out to be about six days too many.

It wouldn't have been so bad if my brother hadn't been lazing around my house for a week before we left. He was getting on my nerves then, and I don't know why I didn't have enough sense just to stay home. He can be sweet with the baby, but he and I just aren't able to get along with one another. He has a seriously screwed up sense of humor; I can only stand being told that he wishes I'd die, and "fuck you," and that he wants to throw my daughter off the balcony so many times before I completely lose it, and then he goes apeshit ballistic and starts screaming and Ali's crying and my mother is telling me that I shouldn't be so uptight because he was just kidding and OH MY GOD I JUST WANT TO GO HOME BECAUSE YOU PEOPLE ARE COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY INSANE.

Whew. Glad to get that out. I'm so glad to be home.

My parents mean well, but their views on parenting are vastly different from mine. I have never let my six and a half week old daughter cry it out, and unless something drastic happens to change my mind, I never intend to. Telling me that babies just "need to cry" isn't going to do anything but insure that I won't be leaving her alone with you.

I haven't really discussed my struggle with breastfeeding here, but it's been seriously tough. With the jaundice and latching problems and position problems and medications and the incessant pumping, I've come close to quitting many, many times. Thankfully I have the support of my pediatrician and an awesome group of moms through the La Leche League, or the baby would almost assuredly be on formula right now. It's only within the last couple of weeks that she's really started breastfeeding well, and I'm so proud of the fact that I toughed it out because I know that breastmilk is best for her. So it hurts for people to discourage her feeding, especially when we were so worried about her not gaining enough weight in the beginning. Don't tell me how fat my baby is as though it's a bad thing, or that she's going to weigh 500 lbs. when she gets older, or that she eats too much and too often.

Especially, don't tell me that shit if you're a 21 year old ex-junkie who doesn't have a job, much less a child. (Thank GOD for that.)

Boy, am I thankful to have a place to vent this stuff, because I've been ready to explode for the past week. What should have been a wonderful homecoming last night turned into an argument (followed by a long and productive discussion) because I've been about to explode all week long.

Also? The six weeks is up, and we're both in serious need of some stress relief. "Sexual tension" has taken on a completely new meaning around this place. Sheesh.

0 comments so far

<< || >>

+ current
+ archives
+ profile
+ cast
+ links
+ rings
+ reviews
+ book
+ notes
+ design
+ diaryland

I am: so very many things. A mother, a wife, a dreamer, a lover of animals and babies, a friend. I've been called a bitch, but if that's what you call someone who stands up for what they believe in and refuses to settle, then I guess the title fits.

loves: my family, horses, a full night's sleep, puppy breath, my daughter's laughter, thunderstorms, bubble baths, makeup, soft sheets, David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs, wine, massages, the written word, and sour straws.

dislikes: closed minds, depression, pimples, extreme heat, math, panic attacks, black licorice, doing laundry, white chocolate, gin, Bush.