(possible trigger)
I really do.
Sometimes I think about leaving in the middle of the night. I never would, because I could never do that to my sweet little baby, but sometimes I think about it.
Sometimes I wonder what he'd do if I did leave him with her. I wonder how he'd cope, having to wake up at 1 am to sit up with her for an hour while she refuses to go back to sleep because she's
still hungry. Sometimes I wonder how he'd handle the diaper changes, giving her medicine when she absolutely refuses to take it, listening to her scream and scream and scream when she hasn't pooped in four days, and the poop is starting to hurt her tiny little tummy. Sometimes I wonder if he could do it. Sometimes I think about running away to see. But I know I never could, because I could never leave him, and I could never leave my baby.
That doesn't stop me from missing my freedom, though. It doesn't stop me from resenting the fact that his life didn't have to change as much as mine. He didn't have to trade work clothes for spit up rags. He didn't have to stop going to work. His body didn't gain 50 lbs, lose 40, then gain 50 again from birth control and anti depressants. He doesn't have to get up at one am to pop a boob out and pray she goes back to sleep. No. His life goes on relatively normally. And because of that, sometimes I resent him and wish that his life did have to do a 180, too. What better way to achieve that than running away?
Of course, it wouldn't work well. He was once given 100 dollars by a stranger for having the baby. For sticking around. He was giving 100 dollars just for showing up. He doesn't get the glares when she's screaming and I'm too afraid to pop my boob out because then I'll be glared at harder. He doesn't have old people patronizing him when she's crying, insinuating that he's doing something wrong. No, he gets sympathy. He gets people trying to help. He gets 100 dollars. I get glares, and eyes rolled, and spit up down the front of my shirt.
And people wonder why postpartum is more common in the moms. It's not just hormones.
No advice needed necessarily, I just needed to vent.