The Mr. goes back to work tomorrow. 

And I hate everything as a result.

Honestly, I don’t know how it’s going to work for me to do this newborn wrangling thing without him. It’s not so much that I NEED the help - though, yes, having an extra set of hands to grab me food and water and my phone when I’ve got a baby attached to my chest, is pretty wonderfully “handy” ... and I will miss terribly everything he’s been on top of - it’s that I need the partner in the mess. I never realized how much I want/need someone I can just be raw with and feel supported by ... And thinking about doing the hard stuff solo, navigating the mental challenge and emotional energy required, well .... it feels really, really daunting. Kind of impossible, really.

Now, she‘s very cute. Wonderfully sweet when she’s sleeping on my shoulder. Mesmerizing as she’s making faces, working her digestive system out. She’s a beautiful baby (and I say that realizing I’m biased, but confident that I’m also right). But, it’s not enough to make these days, this season of living, enjoyable. (Yet?)

I hate myself for thinking that. I genuinly wonder if it’s proof of the “I probably wasn’t meant to be a mom” concept that’s always nagged at the back of my mind. Would good moms struggle so much with this gigantic change of life? This physical lockdown (two months before hanging out in public places?! I DIDN’T KNOW!)? The physical/body toll? This emotional turmoil? I swear no one has ever relayed their dismay about having a kid like I’m feeling. So, it’s gotta be just me, right? 

And I hate that thought. I hate it for her. She deserves better. I wish I had known better. She deserves better than me. Than this. 

So, somehow, I have to figure out how to become what I’m not. How to feel good about what doesn’t. Because she deserves better. 

I just don’t know how.