I am the adult

I mentioned yesterday that Tuesday was a really rough day around here at Casa Fuss. I really only skimmed the details in my random summary. I was a mess.

I couldn't stop crying. I felt completely out of control. I wanted to curl into a ball and hide (but when I laid down, my nose would plug up so much from the copious amounts of fluid draining from my face that I couldn't breathe. That was fun, too.) and I felt like I had to get away from my daughter. When she would inevitably follow me around the house, she would see that I was crying, begin crying too and ask "what wrong, Mommy?" and I couldn't tell her the truth. That she was driving me crazy.

When she would lean in to hug me and tell me "I love you, bery much," (sic) I would repeat back to her "I love you, too, sweetie," but what I really wanted was to say "that's nice - now please leave me alone." In those moments she was being so sweet, all I wanted was for her to go away and leave me in peace for a few minutes. But I knew that this wasn't truly her fault. That it was likely my weirded out pregnancy hormones that were messing me up and that hormones plus lack of decent sleep were catching up to me and that being mean to her was likely going to cause more damage than anything else. I didn't want to be mean to her, I just wanted some space.

I am the adult here. I am the one who has to make sure that my words aren't going to be taken in the wrong way. I am the one who has to make sure that the things I say don't get misconstrued into years of hurt on either side.

I don't like being the adult. I wanted to be selfish and walk away. I wanted to emotionally punish her for misbehaving and being a brat, but I know better (and she only sort of does.) So I was the adult.

I know my husband wasn't sure what to do. I was miffed at him for not offering to stay home with me, but at the same time, I wouldn't have wanted to stay home with me either. And logically, I knew that he had a ton of work to do at the office, and was really taking more time than he should to sit there, hold my hand, wipe away my tears and calm me down. He also left the door open for me to ask him to stay several times, but my crazy brain wanted him to be the one to make the offer. (I almost never play those games with him. When I want something, even if it doesn't always make sense, I usually come out and tell him. I hate playing those games where women say "if you don't know what's wrong, I'm not going to tell you" because I think that's ridiculous and childish. But on Tuesday, my logic wasn't working and I wanted to be a little childish.)

I think one of the things that bothered me so much about the whole thing was that I had been feeling like things were very much improving in the way Fuss and I interacted. Things had been under control for a good while now, where my impatience wasn't getting the better of the situation and I was able to stay calm and in control when she would escalate her outbursts. I was beginning to think that I would be able to handle two kids - maybe not easily from the get-go (because there is ALWAYS a learning curve), but that I wasn't going to be so screwed up over it that I was going to have to give one them away or something. Today challenged that. Today made me wonder if I could be a parent of 2. Today made me wonder - and fear - what my days would be like trying to juggle a newborn and a tantruming toddler.