Happy Birthday to me....happy birthday to me...

There's a lot of people that read this. Many are people I work with, family members, women I've met on "the april board" and even some strangers who don't know me from a hill of beans other than they were the recipient of a forward from someone who knows me. I've been honest in this blog, sometimes to the point where I question publishing it and letting others in to know what I'm thinking and what I'm feeling. But if that honesty stops, so does the blog. It wouldn't be what it is if I dilute the truth and emotions of my journey in becoming a mom. With that said.... It's been a rough 24 hours with more tears shed than should ever be allowed. After much nose snot and tears, supportive hugs and love from my husband, I am finally convinced that I need to do 2 things. 1) I need to place a call to my doctor. Today was the day I was going to do it but we didn't get home until after 4 and by that time they are closed. I didn't want to leave a rambling message on the nurses line. I'm sure they've heard worse, but I'm not trying to outdo anyone. Since Mother's day I've been having more bad days than good. Probably 3 days out of the week I'm not myself. It's the irritations at the slightest thing, tears shed on the sly that even my husband didn't know about (unless he's been following here and I don't think he has) and the desire to sleep and sleep and sleep. If only I could. Thankfully, the needs of my child and husband outweigh my desire to stay in bed and forget that I'm a mom and a wife. What makes it incredibly sad and frustrating for me is I had planned out how motherhood was going to be. I wasn't going to be a basketcase because I'm the strong one, someone that could be counted on, the neutral one or as 2 of my friends call me, Switzerland. When I went for my 6 week check up with the ob/gyn I talked to the nurse about my emotional state. I admitted I was having some concerns and told her I could feel my bad times coming and could head them off at the pass so I could get Kevin involved before losing it. Now? It comes out of the blue like a brick wall through the fog. There's no time to say, "i need a break" to go calm myself and get it together. Before I know it, I'm holding JT, but at a slight distance and find the tears pouring out. Most times it's the silent cry and other times it's the mind-wracking, shoulder-shaking sobbing. I don't want that anymore. I can do without the tears. Besides, it takes a full 48 hours for my puffy eyes to go away after crying. It's hard to be a hot mama after a big cry like that. So tomorrow I will call and see if I will be put on antidepressants or if I'm just being normal and they think I'm fine. 2) It's time to start supplementing with formula. I know, I know. I'm not a bad mom. I haven't failed in any way. It's okay if I supplement since I'll still be giving him breastmilk. But you know what? This hurts me on the inside that I can't even begin to describe. I know it's going to be fine for him. I know it'll be great for me. I also know that I can plan on having spit-up all over everything now which really ticks me off. But this constant feeding has got to end. I know he's getting enough to eat because he's a little porker so that's not the problem. The problem is going to happen next week when I go to work and I don't have enough milk to pump during the day and then feed him at night. It's like I deflate after 7:00 and a Closed sign is flipped out. Suck all you want, buddy, but you'll be there all night to get a full tummy. Seriously, that's what ends up happening. God forbid we bring out a bottle but that's what we're trying this week. I'll try to feed him from the breast in the morning and then both of us will work with the bottle. Tomorrow is the 2 month appointment at JT's doctor. Which also means he's getting his first round of shots. I have people everywhere saying to brace myself and I won't be able to stand the sight and sound of him crying. After seeing my little guy have a catheter at such a young age, a couple needle pricks are going to be like a soft punch. I will have no problem. I feel like I've written a novel already and my son has just announced the end of his nap with a cloth ripping fart. Duty calls. So does my birthday dinner of steak and salmon. Goodnight to you.