This here is a list of good things, about which I will complain:
1. I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight at my two-week Dr. visit. Yeah, I know. Poor me. Please note that I didn't put much on in the first place. And please also note that when you're dropping weight that quickly, it's not really particularly healthy, and it means that you need to eat more if you don't want to drop further (and I don't). Dave keeps foisting whole milk on me, and demanding that I eat more pastries. Which is great, since pastries are all I want to eat. I am spectacularly uninterested in food of any kind, except brownies. I could eat a lot of brownies. Instead, I'm choking down whatever is put in front of me as quickly as is humanly possible because, invariably, when we sit down to dinner, Willow would like to eat too, please. I am holding steady, but after nine months of dietary challenges, I would like to just eat normally and pleasurably.
2. My milk flow is quite heavy indeed. And I'm going to go forth and complain about it with all due sensitivity to the many mothers out there who cannot claim as much--your road is way harder. Waaaaay. Mine is neither heartrending nor frustrating, it's just a little annoying at times. Willow will get the nipple started, and whoa nelly, will it go. And so will the other one. The nipple currently not in use will begin dripping copiously. But the nipple currently in use will go crazy, and flood Willow's mouth, and so she'll spit it out, and it will spray everywhere. Fountains. She'll be drenched, I'll be drenched, so will any furniture in the vicinity. And so although I insist Dave stay here until I've showered in the morning (otherwise no shower will take place) by noon I've been soaked multiple times in breast milk and I've started to smell. And I just feel disgusting. I like breastfeeding itself (which is good, since Willow is one of those babies that seems to need to eat every hour or so), but it means that I always feel a little gross.
3. I have a baby. A baby that I love dearly, but the fact of the matter is that despite all the cute pictures you've seen, she's either asleep or she's crying. We run and take those pictures to document the times when she is not crying. This baby cries a lot, apparently more than most babies even, and while I still love her when she's crying, it's hard to enjoy her. And while I certainly enjoy holding her while she's sleeping, when you've been holding a baby for eighteen out of every twenty-four hours for the past six weeks, the joy of I'mholdingababy gets somewhat diluted. It's hard living with a creature whose very existence seems to torture her--and when you love that creature, you feel pretty much tortured yourself. It's hard not to feel like you're doing something wrong, since clearly part of being a good parent is to give your child a sense of being loved and comforted. Willow has that sense for about five minutes between screaming and being asleep.
This is an exaggeration. She isn't always screaming. She generally has about an hour or two every day when she is awake and, if not happy, then not in complete and utter distress. But the times when she is distressed far outnumber the times when she's not, and it's not just hard on me, it's hard on the kids. They adore their sister, and would like to feel that she adores them too, and doesn't just cry whenever they hold her. They would also like to be able to have a conversation with Dave and me, together, when one of us isn't bouncing and comforting the baby, our attention unavoidably divided. There isn't anything for it--this is just what is, and we all have to try not to take it personally. But it's hard.