Right now, I am not enjoying motherhood at all. In fact, I often go as far as to wonder whether I was really cut out for the job, or whether I should have refused vehemently to have children. I feel stuck in a rut, and the task feels pretty much thankless.
The Boy is the moaniest, most difficult baby I have ever come across. He cries at random moments throughout the day and (more frustratingly still) at night, he cries inconsolably when he is hungry (demanding to be fed NOW, NOW, NOW, as if he had ever been kept waiting or left hungry…), he cries when he is bored, he cries when he is tired, he cries because he wants to go to sleep and he cries because he doesn’t want to go to sleep… Of course, crying is the only language a baby has at his or her disposal, and it is a visceral reaction that allows them to make themselves known to the world, and to make contact. But the Boy cries much more than would seem reasonably expected, and it is a draining experience to go through. Worse still, I am often asked – by benevolent family members, and even other mums, who, one would think, should know better: “But why is he crying? What is wrong?’ Well, if I knew the answer, I would do all I can to help him, I could tend to his needs better, I could make him stop… But just because these questions show concern and they represent a form of reaching out in order to provide me with some support, they can do little to help me in effect. All I can do in response is to shrug my shoulders: if *only* I knew why he cries, if *only* I knew that this draining period of our lives is going to stop soon, and we are going to move into sunnier territories…
Living on an average of 6 hours of interrupted sleep at night is exhausting, and no one should have to function like that for more than a day or two at most. However, I have not had a full night’s sleep since a few months before the Boy was born, and instead of improving the situation for me now that he is a bit older, he is making matters worse, by waking for feeds every hour or two at night, and being very fussy at repeated odd moments throughout the day. And, of course, this is taking its toll on me in general, in how I related to others, and especially, the type of mother I can be for The Girl.
I often find myself snapping at The Girl for the smallest trifle, something which – if I were completely rested and relaxed – would never normally bother me. And, as I snap, I am immediately plagued by feelings of profound guilt: I worry that I am damaging her, that this will have terrible repercussions on her behaviour, that this will come back to bite me at the most inappropriate moment. Yet, despite it all, I cannot stop myself from shouting at her. I can feel the anger, like a red veil, clouding my vision, and I pounce, like an irritated feline. And the worst thing is, while I am doing this, the alternate scenario is playing in my head, and I know full well that I could have acted differently, that I could have controlled myself and responded in a calm manner.
Is there a way out of this rut? At times, when I am with friends, or when I have managed to go out for a run, or when (once in a blue moon) I have a vaguely decent night’s sleep (AKA when I get to have three or so uninterrupted hours of sleep), I feel more in control of myself and I can stop myself from reacting, or from thinking such dark thoughts. However, in the middle of the night, when The Boy wakes me up for the umpteenth time and my ears are pierced by his shrieks, I find myself thinking cruel, punitive thoughts towards him (“I *will* put you on formula if you are not careful…”, or “you can cry until the cows come home”, or simply ‘I don’t care anymore, I just don’t care”), and then I do wonder… will this ever stop?
woodsofwhite 
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