Okay, so I had a baby three months and thirty pounds ago. Which means that I still need to lose as much as my three year old weighs just to get back to “zero” (not the size, mind you.) And I am flippin’ angry over that.
In fact I’ve been angry a lot lately. A lot.
Like when the baby is crying in the back seat and won’t take the binky that my daughter is giving him and we hit every single red light and slow driver on the road before we get home - I’ve been angry about that.
Or when a certain national drugstore chain decides to earmark half a dozen spots closest to their front door for stupid “low emissions” vehicles. Psah! You bet that rubbed me the wrong way as I swung my CO2 emitting dented and cracked American made truck into one of those spots in that “I’m postpartum and I dare you to give me a ticket” kind of way. I’m still stewing over it, though, and just might boycott the place in a personal rant over the injustice of it all.
Even worse, lately I’ve been angry with my husband over him just breathing. You know, because for most of the day, he breathes where there’s no scent of soiled diaper, or spit up, or chicken nuggets around. He called me as I composed this post (which I wrote while nursing, by the way) to say:
“Guess what? I just got a plenary indulgence!”
Now, perhaps a more pious wife would have been happy for her husband about this, but I went all Dana Carvey on him, “Well, aren’t you just special?” I said. He was quiet for a second (and, being English, did not understand the reference anyway) before he took his life in his hands by asking, “So what’s for dinner?”
I choked back the angry rant I could have spewed at that moment. “I don’t know. What are you cooking?” I asked. “It’s not my day to cook.” He said.
“I know. Sorry.” I said. “I guess I can just pick up some burgers,” he said.
“Great. It looks like that extra grace is really paying off today.” I said in that way. He made some comment about me giving up. I looked at the infant nursing at my breast and said, “Yup. Given up. Glad we could both cross this bridge together. So, see you in a couple of minutes?”
Check and mate. Score one for the angry gal.
You know, the angry one with a “Catholic mom” blog full with posts that frequently feature poop, domestic rants and homeschooling thoughts, because yes, I now personify every stereotype I always told myself I never would!
At this point you are probably wondering, then why do it? Why have kids and why do any of it?
I can only respond, because of this:
Look at him. Did you know that he laughs in his sleep? That when he sees me he lights up like I’m the sun? That the world was made more complete, and his siblings are I (believe it or not?) are better with him around.
Did I mention that I only had him three months ago? No wonder I feel this way! What do you expect, people? I had a baby only three months ago. I’m pretty sure all of this is normal. And I know exactly how to fight this thing (so if you too are in the same boat, take this down):
I’m going to make it a point to be with people and not just ask for prayers on Facebook. The presence of others helps, especially for an introvert like me whose tendency is to isolate. It’s the only thing that helps, actually, in addition to the rosary...and beer. In fact, I started this post wanting to write about how great being with people is when you have a baby, but then, you know…aargh!.