Three Month Itch

Yesterday, Finley was three months old, and made the transition from newborn to infant. And instantly, like someone had whispered to her that it was the rule, she fussed. All day. And again. All day today. Didn't want to be put down. Wanted to be walked and held and entertained and challenged. Refused to fall asleep unless she was in someone's arms. And I felt exhausted for the first time in weeks, instead of exhilirated.

The newborn baby high is gone, for both of us. She's tired of laying around and I finally want to.

I miss those first sweet months, where all I wanted to do was stare at her. I feel horrible that now it's time to move on from that, teach her independence, regain things I once was--productive, creative, hard-working, responsible. I don't want her to learn to self-soothe. I want her to cry and have me run to her and comfort her. Forever.

But I can't do it when I feel like this--not down, not depressed, but just exhausted by the happiness I felt. I don't even have time to be down, to be depressed.

She's tired of having her hands bound, tired of being swaddled. Me too.

I saw an old friend last night, from across the restaurant. Then again across the store. Both times she was with her new baby and new husband. I wanted so badly to run over to her, surprise her, catch up... But I stopped myself twice because I am TIRED. Tired of thinking, you win, you got everything you wanted. Tired of explaining, tired of sugarcoating the truth.

Tired of saying that Ricky's coming around when he isn't. Tired of saying how much I adore being a single mom, how it's surpringly easy when really, some moments I am unsure of how I will find energy for the next moment.

Tired of feeling guilt when someone offers to hold a fussy Fin. It's my baby, an accidental conceived before I was ready to move onto adulthood. I'll handle it, you've already moved past this stage of parenting.

Tired of being brave, tired of being hopeful, tired of using money on sleepers instead of a sleeve of tattoos, tired of rustling up the strength of two parents, tired of answering Ricky's phone calls when I know the subject of his daughter won't be brought up. Tired of having my biggest mistakes stare me down every moment--not Finley, not the sex that brought Finley, but the years of trading magical movie-worthy moments for a guy who never knew how to treat me.

A guy whose ass everyone I know and love wants to kick on behalf of me, on behalf of my good years that are gone.

Fin is outgrowing things. So am I.