The Frustratrations of Raising a Wonderful Child

I am frustrated. I am stressed. I am even a little angry. Some may be quick to say that I'm being too hard on myself, but you must realize that I pride myself on being the "prefect" parent, even though there is no such thing.
Owen is teething. Majorly. I'm fully expecting 17 teeth to pop through in the next day. Because of this, he wants to be comforted. And to be comforted, he wants to nurse. A lot. I don't mind the nursing part, but when I look at the clock and see it's 10:20 and I know I started nursing him before 9:30, I get frustrated. "I'm done!" I want to say to him, although he doesn't know what I'm talking about. I unlatch him, he cries hysterical like I'm cutting off his arm or something. I latch him back on, he falls asleep. I unlatch him, cries hysterical again. The cycle continues.
I was at my wit's end last night. I'm stressed already because of the following: We are trying to sell our house. No one wants to buy a house right now. Paperwork for foreclosure is being started. 7 year bad mark on credit report. No house. We are slowly making the transition to have me stay home with Owen, and I'm mad that it's not happening as quickly as I want it to. I hate that Owen is in daycare. I hate that someone else is raising my child for me. I hate that this other person gets to have fun with Owen and laugh with him, while I get him during sleepy time and cranky time. I feel guilty for even sending him to daycare and hate going to work each day. I would say I am close to tears each day leaving the house. Some days I do cry. It's so hard for me.

Last night, after the hour long marathon nursing session, I finally get him to sleep. I have a huge headache by this time and am contemplating committing myself because I'm so stressed. If famous people can take a personal hiatus, why can't an overworked mom? After my lavendar bubble bath and 2 Motrin, I go into the bedroom. Owen is sprawled out like an X on my side of the bed. Sean is snoring. I get a blanket and curl up at the end of our bed with Brody, our cat. An hour later, Owen wakes up to nurse. 2 hours later, he wants to nurse again. 40 minutes later, my alarm goes off. Swell. Another night of no sleep.

I sometimes feel it would be so much easier if I just didn't care. How easy would it be to just let him cry it out? Or to give him a bottle? Or just let daycare feed him canned spaghetti o's? I could never do these things though. These are my main reasons for wanting to stay home with Owen. He should never have to cry it out. He is crying for a reason! And bottles are full of crap. And why is America overweight? Sure, it's not fully to be blamed on canned Spaghetti 's, but it's a contributing factor. I want him to have organic, natural, pure, fresh food.

So, in my darkest hour, I look at my angel, sleeping with this little smile on his face. And I realize that all of my anger and frustration isn't because of OWEN. I realize it's me that needs to change. And, it's not Owen I'm mad at. It's more the behavior.

So, where to go from here? Have a good cry. Feel sorry for myself. Suck it up, and know that shortly, I will be home with my son, and this will all fall by the wayside. Not to be forgotten, but to be a reminder of how wonderful of a child I'm raising.