Baby J hit 7 months this week. And with that, came excessively clingy and screamy moments. We’re not sure if he’s getting more teeth, hitting an early growth spurt, or what, but OMG this child is driving me absolutely insane.
What kills me is the moments where I begin to feel like a failure because of how I respond to motherhood. Shouldn’t this be easier? Shouldn’t I feel more complete? Shouldn’t I be happier and less angry?
It started on Thursday when we met my husband for dinner while he was on his lunch from work. The hostess sat us at a table suuuuper close to another table. I put Baby J in the high chair and pulled out the disposable placemat to put in front of him- it both entertains him and keeps things a little more sanitary. With how close the other table was, I couldn’t push the long-armed octopus back in his high chair so I struggled to stick the placemat to the table. He grabbed it and twisted the sticky parts together. I managed to unstick them and attempt again. He grabbed again. And I flipped.
I crumpled the placemat and threw it and the bag of food/bib/spoon on the table in a fit of rage. It was better to do that than take my frustration out on him. I know he’s just a baby- rationally. I know in my mind that he doesn’t realize what I’m trying to do and he is just grabbing at the colorful thing in front of him. But the mom rage inside of me got the better of me and I snapped.
The lady at the table behind came over. “Can I just give mom a hug?” And proceeded to hug me and tell me she had 2 teenagers and it’s okay. I was doing a good job. But if I was doing a good job, why did you have to hug me? Why did I cause a scene and have someone else notice?
During these clingy/fussy times, it becomes impossible for me to practice self-care. The nanny takes him but all I hear is him crying in the background “bawa, mawa, bama” in his babble cry. Stepping outside doesn’t help. The husband will take him for a bit but then gets frustrated that Baby J only cries for me the whole time and that he has stuff to do so “take this baby.” It is frustrating to me that no one else can appease this kid except me. So I get zero time to myself, zero time to think or work or be.
Is it me? Or is it the baby though? Are my emotions too much? Or is this child seriously so demanding that any mom would be driven to rage/anxiety/wine nights with the girls?
Today, I can’t even process. I am existing- breathing- but nothing more. I haven’t gotten dressed. I don’t remember the last time I peed without a baby staring at me. Dinner looks bleak. I feel burdened, drained, empty, chaos, dread, pain. Maybe he’s getting more teeth. Maybe we just had a rough night. Maybe it’s just been a day and the clock will be reset.
But right now, in this moment, I don’t know how to physically keep going. I’m on the back porch trying to soak up the sun and breathe the fresh air. He is playing in his walker and fussing every few minutes. The hubby is bringing me a diet coke on his way back from a work errand. Maybe I’ll make it. But it sure feels like it would help to just go crawl into bed to cry.