And when I say "people" I mean basically any human being I come into contact with.
Which, in their defense, is kind of right on par.
It could be because I called my mom crying the other day.
Or maybe it's because I was teary-eyed while at Braeburn's doctor for the second time this week, explaining that we can rarely get him to stop wailing, that it feels like we're going through the stomach issues with his sister all over again.
Maybe it's because he wouldn't stop screaming and I was asked by three different nurses and a couple in the elevator how I dealt with said screaming.
Perhaps it's because I sent a text to one of my closest friends telling her that I should stop having babies because mine seem to come out in pain, screaming all the time and so I should just birth toddlers. Whining to her because despite being older, wiser and already a parent of one, I still couldn't prepare myself for another child with stomach issues, another child that is largely inconsolable, another child that I feel completely helpless to.
It could be because I called my best friend in the entire world (the one without any children) and left a message bawling my eyes out about how hard this was and how terrible of a mother I was.
Or the fact when my other friend texted me asking if I was surviving life with two I didn't even read the text message for 20 hours, probably because I was crying.
Not to mention the time my Braeburn burped up breastmilk all over our bedroom comforter and my husband replied with "well, that's why we got this bedspread anyway, it hides everything." Yup, I cried then too. Mainly because I was covered in burp juice, my hair was a wreck and I just wanted one thing in our house to not smell like yucky baby fluid.
I'm not in a full-blown depression, I have lots of moments of happiness still. I'm just feeling really, really stuck. I'm feeling like we're starting all over again and I feel guilty because if I let my mind really wander, I start to contemplate how another child was ever a good idea in the first place. Not because Braeburn isn't amazing (he's such a handsome, darling little man), but because I don't know if I'm strong enough, if I'm good enough.
I know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I know that his digestive system will mature and he will get through this bout of gas, tummy cramps or whatever else is making him a big ole cranky pants.
I suppose the hardest part is simply not knowing how much longer we have until we reach the end of the tunnel, until we're in the sunshine and until we're a happy family of four again.
But when it comes to the punch-yourself-in-the-face baby blues, (complete with babies, immature digestive systems, breastmilk and farts) the thing you have to remember is that there will be an end. He will get older, we will get used to this and until then, we just have to grin and bear it; and keep our eyes on the light at all times, whether it's three weeks away or three months away.