Tired
I’m tired.
It’s strange to feel more tired now than I have been, since Lucia’s sleeping has been getting so much better. But I’m tired. With all our visitors gone now and Andrew back to work, I find that my days alone with Lucia pass quickly—but leave me exhausted. Most days we do just fine. But here and there we have A Day, like we did on Monday, when I’ve apparently eaten something horrendous that leaves Lucia in inconsolable discomfort. Even an hour or two of her painful crying wipes me out and has me counting the minutes until I hear Andrew’s car in the driveway.
And now that I’m trying to pick up a little work again, I find my stress level has skyrocketed—I don’t know how I’m going to find time in the day to do what I need to do. Part of my problem is that if Lucia so much as glances at me from her bassinet or bouncy chair, I’m overwhelmed with guilt for not holding her. I didn’t expect to feel this way, and I can’t get over it—she looks at me so innocently and plaintively, as though she just can’t understand why Mommy’s not where baby is. I’m not sure how to strike the right balance yet, or if it’s even going to be possible, or what’s going to happen if it’s not. And then I get even more overwhelmed in this cycle of thinking. I’m completely torn between wanting to start working again (I generally like the writing and editing I do and have worked hard to build it up) and wanting to not work at all so I can simply tend to Lucia every second. I know it’s going to be a process of trial and error; but it would be nice if I didn’t feel so guilt-stricken while I figure it all out.
In the meantime…I’m tired. I don’t think I’ve yet developed the mental capacity to deal with all these mothering conundrums.
It’s strange to feel more tired now than I have been, since Lucia’s sleeping has been getting so much better. But I’m tired. With all our visitors gone now and Andrew back to work, I find that my days alone with Lucia pass quickly—but leave me exhausted. Most days we do just fine. But here and there we have A Day, like we did on Monday, when I’ve apparently eaten something horrendous that leaves Lucia in inconsolable discomfort. Even an hour or two of her painful crying wipes me out and has me counting the minutes until I hear Andrew’s car in the driveway.
And now that I’m trying to pick up a little work again, I find my stress level has skyrocketed—I don’t know how I’m going to find time in the day to do what I need to do. Part of my problem is that if Lucia so much as glances at me from her bassinet or bouncy chair, I’m overwhelmed with guilt for not holding her. I didn’t expect to feel this way, and I can’t get over it—she looks at me so innocently and plaintively, as though she just can’t understand why Mommy’s not where baby is. I’m not sure how to strike the right balance yet, or if it’s even going to be possible, or what’s going to happen if it’s not. And then I get even more overwhelmed in this cycle of thinking. I’m completely torn between wanting to start working again (I generally like the writing and editing I do and have worked hard to build it up) and wanting to not work at all so I can simply tend to Lucia every second. I know it’s going to be a process of trial and error; but it would be nice if I didn’t feel so guilt-stricken while I figure it all out.
In the meantime…I’m tired. I don’t think I’ve yet developed the mental capacity to deal with all these mothering conundrums.
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