That is the best way I can think of to describe the next 7 weeks. I kept thinking it would get better. "tomorrow will be better." "after a nap it will be better." "if i could just grab a couple minutes to myself, it would be better." "once we find a schedule it will be better." -- you name it, I thought it would make things better. But it didn't. It just got worse and worse. But I tried SO HARD to be the strong Mama. To pretend like I had it all together. It's one thing to lie to myself and pretend like I was OK, but I even tried to fool my husband. As if that would work!!
My breaking point came when Jada was probably a little over a month old. It was early, early in the morning and Jada was awake. Again. Crying. Again. Inconsolable. Again. Nate was already at work and I was home alone. I could feel myself unraveling, so I decided to get her out of bed and bring her into bed with me. Maybe if she could feel me next to her, she would settle down and we could both sleep. Nope. This kid had her mind made up that she was going to ruin my day and she was off to a great start. I rolled over and started to lay a hand on my precious, innocent baby girl. It took every ounce of energy I could muster up in my tired, tired body to restrain myself. I just wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to see what she was doing to me. If I could just show her how ridiculous she was acting, then she would straighten up.
My mind told me to call in reinforcements. Call Nate. Call Mom. Call the neighbor. Call ANYONE so they can come save this baby. My mind knew what to do, but my Pride got in the way. "No way! If I call someone, then everyone will know that I can't do this. Everyone will know that I'm an unfit mother. No one will trust that I can take care of my children. I will be judged. People will talk about me. Besides... even if i wanted to call someone, it is way too early. I don't want wake anyone up and burden them with my problems. Nope... can't do it..."
So I lay in my bed next to my crying baby. And I cried with her.
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