I don't feel like writing.
I don't feel like talking.
I don't feel like visiting.
I don't feel like going out.
I don't feel like doing anything, really, except holding my baby, nursing my baby, sleeping with her against my chest, kissing her soft, soft cheek.
I want the quiet, peaceful, restful time the breastfeeding books and baby books say are needed for creating a successful breastfeeding relationship.
I want to be witty, insightful, thoughtful, intelligent, caring. I can't.
I want to be a good parent to my toddler during this difficult time. I can't. I want to be able to manage my newborn and toddler at home all day by myself without being overwhelmed with the stress of it. I want to not resent the fact that Owen has only been able to go to daycare 1 1/2 days of the last ten. I want to not have to go to the pediatrician's office again. I want to stop being so short-tempered with her tantrums. I want the tantrums to stop. I want her to do more for herself. I want to be able to give her all the attention I did before. I can't.
I want to not feel so pulled in so many directions.
Truth is, I want everyone except the baby to just go away. I'm sorry. It's a terrible thing to say, but, for right now, it's true.
