(note: read this in the context of the posts i meant to come online and make previously, of how delightful he is these days, verbose and wordy and so able to express himself in specific words and funny sentences, so insightful and knowledgeable, so affectionate and sweet with his frequent kiss-mummy sessions, so many delightful jokes and "look at my funny face, mummy"..)

ah.
today, i feel a) completely convinced that i don't have what it takes to parent, and, b) thoroughly sorry for myself.

the (a) seems to be a universally experienced sort of juncture, so i'm happy enough to suck that up, but the (b) is a killer.

i just feel like, above and beyond the normal travails of parenting a young child, that i've really received a package more challenging that most other parents'.
sometimes i have professional opinions to back it up, in the way of authors of books a la "sears' fussy baby", "active alert child", "highly spirited child, and on and on.
not to mention having chosen a parenting style which is in the short term anyway, the harder way to do things sometimes.

currently it's being pawed at all night and latched on to for endless hours overnight. and pawed at and being latched on to, on and off, all bloody day.
in between the million episodes per day of being clamored for NOW because something has made him upset, or because he wants something and doesn't want to wait for it, and crying loudly ("dandan CRY!"), or just because he wants me for the millionth time, all of me.

and when i start feeling sorry for myself, i lie there and think of how bloody hard it has been the whole time. all those nightmarish frequent sudden and gut-emptying vomits all through his babyhood. the gazillion nights of intense boobing through the night. the gazillion being-pawed-at for boob, no matter where or when. all that carrying, refusing to walk or sit in a pram or sit in his own chair. the gazillion conversations i've lost with friends or interested strangers because he has to have me NOW. being "on call" to run to the bedroom as soon as he whimpers, even after he's finally gone to sleep at night, so that i can't take a shower even then, or feel finally free, but always always chained by the ankle.

not to mention all the friendships i feel i've now lost for some reason or another (nothing to do with him, true) since becoming a mother, and how isolated i feel / am. not to mention how stupid this marriage now is. and how i feel i have to do everything around here. why, if i almost killed myself planning and packing for our trip away, must it also be me who unpacks it now that we're back? why must it always be me that does all the cooking, especially since it's also me that uses my baby-free time to buy groceries? why does he get to use his at-home time to relax and do his own thing when i've parented all day, will be night-parenting all night when my sleep's already all fucked to shit, so now why must it still be me to parent all evening, while also doing housework? he shouldn't fucking get to, is the answer.

it's so tempting to cast around desperately for a way out. at times like this, i run through my options. if separation would make things easier i'd definitely consider it.
stopping breastfeeding? this does seem to be a common milestone for mums to crack it. i'm on the fence about it.. it seems so likely that it'll make things easier, and i really sometimes feel so tired of it. but i also sometimes feel so glad we have it, plus it would feel like such a big gap... all this time it's been the cornerstone of our relationship. ideally i'd like to cut back - bloody nightwean already, and one or two sweet convenient civilised boobings in the evening.

scarily, the option of full-time day care even lifts its sneaky head as an option. only doing a few hours of evening parenting a day... the time together is enjoyable, only delightful, and then he's off to bed. far better right, than today's constant sniping and griping (mine, to him) and simmering resentments running over to occasional flashes of internal violence.

which makes me think, the (a) of earlier. i really am not cut out to do this. we have no day routine, he goes for ages without food and actually gets crabby from hunger. there are so many things he won't eat, so few things he will eat. he doesn't let me brush his teeth at all so god knows what might happen to them.

i think i might go and borrow an evil gina ford type toddler book on setting routines etc. perhaps there might be something helpful in amongst the evilness..

i also need new sleeping arrangements. we always end up squished together in a desperate clump half the night. and he seems to stir more after i go to bed, and get more grabby for boob.
i may not be ready for him to be in his own room (even if he can walk himself over to me sometime, it would still end up being him and i in a queen size bed for the latter half of the night).
i'm thinking, if we had a big enough room: single, queen, single. so at the start of the night A and i could be on the QS, dan on the single. then when dan wants boob in the night, A rolls onto his own single, dan and i on the QS. then when dan falls asleep and lets me go, i roll onto my own single, so all 3 of us will be on our own mattresses. the luxury, the freedom!

but we don't have the space, so i guess a QS and a single, for dan and i. A will have to keep sleeping in the lounge.. unless i can find a narrow roll-upable foam mattress?

or, thinking out loud. maybe dan CAN go to his own room.. then in my room there'll be a QS and a single. A on the single, me on the QS; when dan comes over to me in the night for boobing or company, he can join me on the QS and stay there. if dan crowds me too much, i can spill over onto A's single, or get up and climb over dan and switch sides.
hm! a bedroom for dandan... how novel!
another upside is that maybe A and i can finally get back to talking in bed like we used to, it's always traditionally been our only time to talk, which maybe explains why we don't talk at all now anymore, hence all the issues and deadness.

maybe i'm feeling like this today cos i'm so bloody tired, from having my body clock reset from the trip. it's 1.30am now and i'm still up, though i was super wrecked all day today. during the day i put the tv on for dan, walked off to bed, and just fell semi asleep, while he kept shouting "MOMMY"in my face and trying to wake me (for non essential things like "where's the doggy?". when he got distressed i'd respond sleepily.). he played around me, and in the living room. eventually he fell asleep too on the boob, so A came home at 6.30pm to find us both asleep. of course, dan then woke at 8.30pm, so he only fell asleep again at midnight..
it's the travelling...