Week Seven

Here it is. I have finally decided that I can stop making excuses and just write something.

It seems impossible that life can be so frustrating and demanding. Finding enjoyment has been difficult but not because of postpartum depression this time. Life has been so complicated. Is it supposed to be this fucking hard?

Six weeks ago we had Egan. I haven’t had a chance to catch my breath. The first week consisted of way too much Christmas. Despite our requests to have no gift exchange this year we had five days of Christmas. Paul’s parents left to go to Florida. Our rooster almost killed one of our best hens. And Paul attempted to get back to work. The second week consisted of a lot of yelling and crying on my part. I was an emotional wreck and surely began the depression decline. Oh, and Juniper got hit by a car. The third week I felt a bit better and decided to have company almost every day. This just led to high levels of stress which led me back down the road of weeping and yelling insanity. Following that was week four. Egan decided this would be a wonderful time start nursing every hour day and night. We developed thrush as a result and the lack of sleep caused, again, a slip in sanity. Week five was a bit better except for Waverly not sleeping almost any day for naps and spreading misery throughout the house. That brings us to week six. Enter the stomach bug. Need I say more?

I am hoping like hell that week seven is better. Given this is Sunday and I cried during dinner, it’s not looking good. I mean, is it really that hard? Is it just having a newborn and adjusting to the change that is making it so taxing? Is it the constant fighting? The hitting, biting, hair pulling, and screaming on top of the lack of sleep and baby cries? I don’t know. At the end of Sunday it would be nice to feel as if we were able to slow down and relax as a family. Even if we never leave the house it still feels like we were busy all day.

How can we slow down and enjoy these moments when it feels like a rush to get through the day even when time doesn’t seem to be moving? It doesn’t even make sense. It’s confusing and exhausting. I feel that I will never have the time to give each of my children what they need or enjoy the last newborn moments I will have or even to take the time to be alone so that I can refuel. Where does the time go?

Seriously, where? Is this really what we wanted, what we signed on for? I knew it would be hard and challenging. I never expected easy. But I never expected to feel on the verge of collapse so often.

Week seven…you better not be a bitch.

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