(no subject)
Dear Mr Pooface,
I wish you were here because I've just had the most horrible day ever. I can't believe how tiring just looking after a baby all day is. I don't know. My back hurts from holding him for hours. Why didn't he sleep? Why did he sulk the entire time with me, but when you or my dad were home, he's all smiles and giggles? And why did he spew up everything I fed him? He's vomiting so much lately. Like, entire meals, it feels like. Don't get me wrong, when I'm not holding I have this yearning to have him in my arms again, like my hands feel empty if they're not touching him. But Christ, when he won't sleep, do I want a break or do I want a break. I'm unable to day dream when he won't sleep. All I can think is please, please, fall asleep and stay asleep for at least an hour, please.
After having him scream for a very long time I finally got him in the bath (I just forgot how to spell bath, wondering if it was balf or barf -- definately primary school teacher material) and we had a nice time. He was very happy and calm while I finally had the time to breathe and remind myself that he's just a baby and babies sometimes cry for no reason (well, in this case he was horribly over tired) and they also hate to sleep, and that it's not his fault that his world is so interesting and all he wants to do is look at everything (especially the tv) all day long. Then I began to adore him some more, but still dreaded having to try to put him to sleep again. Finally I cuddled him to sleep, even though I know that's bad of me and doesn't teach him anything about putting himself to sleep, and put him down, and he's woken up a couple of times since (and it's only been an hour) but at least I was able to lay on the couch and watch the Simpsons.
I had some really horrible dreams that I can't get out of my head. Sarah and Susan lived and worked at the pub, and couldn't care less about me or my baby. I was incredibly hurt. Then you were there, and you said something personal and mean, and I said, "fuck you, Matt" and you said "I'm not in the mood" and that angered me ever so because neither was I, because I never am. When you woke me I felt like a heavy weight was pushing me onto the bed and I couldn't get up. I was so, so tired, as if my brain didn't get any rest at all.
I hardly slept last night. Leith woke up at 1:30AM and 5:30AM, a far cry from his 11 hours of sleep a few nights before, and between those hours I was wide awake, I couldn't shut my thoughts down. I was tossing and turning and so jealous because you were stiff as a board beside me, quietly, gently snoring, so calm and still, with your knee turned outwards and onto my side of the bed. I thought about the Sims, and dreamt about the Sims.
Dad came home and saw me staring into space with Leith wide awake in my arms. He must have known I was upset because he offered to take him for me. I thanked him and used the time to wash Leith's bottles, something which I was really starting to worry I'd never have the time to do before his next feed. They sat and watched a documentary on ABC2 about the Anzacs. And now that Leith is finally sleeping, he's made dinner and set the table without once asking me for help. It's such a fucking relief because I think I'd burst into tears if I had to get up. I don't know what's wrong with me. I know you think I have post-natal depression but I don't. I know what depression is. It's being unable to sleep. It's being unable to eat. And don't mention the fact that I haven't eaten since 8:30 this morning or that I just finished complaining that I couldn't sleep last night. Seriously, I know I'm not depressed because. I just do. Because I'm already taking a number of anti-depressants every day, ok?
It's an hour and a half before you'll be home for dinner. And then you'll go into your room and play computer games. And I'll wait for a few hours, before going in with a long face and you'll hug me, and playfully squeaze my ass, and I'll get a little bit upset inside but I've nagged you about things like that enough and you always say I'm no fun anymore and I hate hearing that, it makes me feel like becoming a mother has turned me into a bore. So I don't complain. I just sulk some more and ask you to come to bed for cuddles. I think you secretly think to yourself that you might have a chance at sex if you do that, but by now you know better and say that no, you're going to stay up on the computer for a bit longer. So I'll go to bed by myself, exhausted, and unable to be excited about my plans for tomorrow anymore.
I'm not worried because I know you hate to read so you'll never know I ever wrote this.
From me.
I wish you were here because I've just had the most horrible day ever. I can't believe how tiring just looking after a baby all day is. I don't know. My back hurts from holding him for hours. Why didn't he sleep? Why did he sulk the entire time with me, but when you or my dad were home, he's all smiles and giggles? And why did he spew up everything I fed him? He's vomiting so much lately. Like, entire meals, it feels like. Don't get me wrong, when I'm not holding I have this yearning to have him in my arms again, like my hands feel empty if they're not touching him. But Christ, when he won't sleep, do I want a break or do I want a break. I'm unable to day dream when he won't sleep. All I can think is please, please, fall asleep and stay asleep for at least an hour, please.
After having him scream for a very long time I finally got him in the bath (I just forgot how to spell bath, wondering if it was balf or barf -- definately primary school teacher material) and we had a nice time. He was very happy and calm while I finally had the time to breathe and remind myself that he's just a baby and babies sometimes cry for no reason (well, in this case he was horribly over tired) and they also hate to sleep, and that it's not his fault that his world is so interesting and all he wants to do is look at everything (especially the tv) all day long. Then I began to adore him some more, but still dreaded having to try to put him to sleep again. Finally I cuddled him to sleep, even though I know that's bad of me and doesn't teach him anything about putting himself to sleep, and put him down, and he's woken up a couple of times since (and it's only been an hour) but at least I was able to lay on the couch and watch the Simpsons.
I had some really horrible dreams that I can't get out of my head. Sarah and Susan lived and worked at the pub, and couldn't care less about me or my baby. I was incredibly hurt. Then you were there, and you said something personal and mean, and I said, "fuck you, Matt" and you said "I'm not in the mood" and that angered me ever so because neither was I, because I never am. When you woke me I felt like a heavy weight was pushing me onto the bed and I couldn't get up. I was so, so tired, as if my brain didn't get any rest at all.
I hardly slept last night. Leith woke up at 1:30AM and 5:30AM, a far cry from his 11 hours of sleep a few nights before, and between those hours I was wide awake, I couldn't shut my thoughts down. I was tossing and turning and so jealous because you were stiff as a board beside me, quietly, gently snoring, so calm and still, with your knee turned outwards and onto my side of the bed. I thought about the Sims, and dreamt about the Sims.
Dad came home and saw me staring into space with Leith wide awake in my arms. He must have known I was upset because he offered to take him for me. I thanked him and used the time to wash Leith's bottles, something which I was really starting to worry I'd never have the time to do before his next feed. They sat and watched a documentary on ABC2 about the Anzacs. And now that Leith is finally sleeping, he's made dinner and set the table without once asking me for help. It's such a fucking relief because I think I'd burst into tears if I had to get up. I don't know what's wrong with me. I know you think I have post-natal depression but I don't. I know what depression is. It's being unable to sleep. It's being unable to eat. And don't mention the fact that I haven't eaten since 8:30 this morning or that I just finished complaining that I couldn't sleep last night. Seriously, I know I'm not depressed because. I just do. Because I'm already taking a number of anti-depressants every day, ok?
It's an hour and a half before you'll be home for dinner. And then you'll go into your room and play computer games. And I'll wait for a few hours, before going in with a long face and you'll hug me, and playfully squeaze my ass, and I'll get a little bit upset inside but I've nagged you about things like that enough and you always say I'm no fun anymore and I hate hearing that, it makes me feel like becoming a mother has turned me into a bore. So I don't complain. I just sulk some more and ask you to come to bed for cuddles. I think you secretly think to yourself that you might have a chance at sex if you do that, but by now you know better and say that no, you're going to stay up on the computer for a bit longer. So I'll go to bed by myself, exhausted, and unable to be excited about my plans for tomorrow anymore.
I'm not worried because I know you hate to read so you'll never know I ever wrote this.
From me.