Revenge in a bottle.

The boy has been sick with tonsillitis for the past few days. It is his first time being sick in the six months that he has been alive and he is pissed. I mean PISSED. At the world, at me ,the crib, the car seat, the jumparoo, the high chair, oh the high chair. But the biggest object of his wrath at the moment is the bottle. Oh how he hates it. And he is not shy about showing it. He looks at that bottle with the same look Mike Tyson looks at the opponent's ear and tries to bite it with the same aggression fueled abandon.

Let me tell you that the first few months of the boy's life were very challenging for me. I was certain that I was not cut out for this whole motherhood thing and was even more certain that I would never ever in a million years have another child. The very thought of ever having another child made me shudder with horror. A couple of months later it all started to make more sense. I even started to (gasp) enjoy various motherhood related activities and of course I love the boy. I even started shocking my husband profoundly  by saying things like "wouldn't it be nice to have a girl too". And then the boy got sick and started hating everything, and mostly the woman that brought him into this world of misery and stuffed up noses - me. There have been countless moments in the past couple of days when I had to put him somewhere, anywhere, so that I could go and scream at the top of my lungs to vent my frustration. And then there were frantic calls to the hubby of the "you have to come home now or I will leave this child for the vultures" variety. I think at some point my hubby actually thought there was a chance I might deliver on that promise and tried to patiently talk me off the ledge saying things like :"just let him cry, he is just sick, it'll get better" etc. Now if you are a mother who has been in a similar situation you know that all you want to say to that is "screw you, you don't have to spend your days with the wailing beast". But then the hubby got home. And tried to feed the boy. The fool. The boy would not tolerate such indignity and barely took an ounce if that. Mommy had to come to the rescue and he finally ate for me. This was revenge and validation in one bottle so to speak. Oh the look of frustration on the hubby's face. And all I wanted to say was "how do you feel now, bitch".

Comments

[Me]

The poor husband!