I started to write a detailed description of my last two weeks. Actually I did write it. But then I read it over and it was a long complainy list events with details that really could interest no one.
So I'll just summarize: Since the baby's birth nearly two weeks ago, Owen has been to daycare only two and a half days. Not only that, but she has had one bout of 24-hour throwing-up, has been sent home with diarrhea, and has been struck with the most severe and painful constipation. She's also had what appears to be either bites (flea bites?) or hives on her feet and arms. We spent nearly three hours in the pediatrician's office one day only to be sent home with a lecture on the child's diet and a laxative.
For her part, Barrett has been to the pediatrician twice--for the initial check after release from the hospital, and then again for a weight check and follow-up on her mild jaundice.
Of course I don't sleep more than two hours at a time, since I'm nursing Barrett. I'm unsure of myself in the whole breastfeeding arena, and some days I'm convinced she's not getting nearly enough to eat. I'm certain that I'm doing something wrong or my breasts would not hurt every time she latches on (every two to three hours).
And Owen, well, she's been reacting, I guess to the changes in her life and the stress of her messed up schedule. She's been pitching the worst tantrums several times a day. And I haven't reacted well. I am exhausted, irritable, and, as I said in my previous post, I want everyone to go away.
There's more, of course, small things that have added to my stress. I won't go into those.
Your comments have helped--Alissa, Jennifer, Sara, thank you. You've made me feel less alone.
My saving grace has been Paul.
Paul, who holds and hugs and kisses me and tells me I'm doing a wonderful job. Paul, so makes me sandwiches and puts Owen to bed. Who at this moment is sleeping on the couch, Barrett on his chest. He opens my heart to loving them all.
