I don’t think I have ever felt so badly about something: I yelled at Knox last night. My sweet, innocent little squirt, who had no idea he was irritating the piss out of me. He had been extremely ornery all day long, whining and “Ehh!!!”-ing constantly, and by the time I got home and was sitting down to eat dinner, my patience was at a breaking point. I went to nurse him and he started arching his back and yelling “EEHHH!” I snapped. I told him to shut up. I seriously regretted it the second it left my mouth. He looked up at me, obviously unfazed, like I was a lunatic. And in that moment, I was one. Then Trevor was mad at me for yelling at him, which made me feel ever worse than I already did. I cried sitting there holding him because I was so unnecessarily mean to him- it just killed me to think about it. Why did I take out my frustrations over a crappy day on the one little person that deserved it the least? This morning, I still feel awful. Knox obviously doesn’t remember, happily grinning at me while eating and spitting bananas all over me, but I remember. And I am completely guilt-ridden over it.
What’s worse is that our work life is getting busier at the same time Knox is becoming more high-maintenance, and by the time I get home, I feel like taking a swig of vodka and going to sleep. Of course, that’s not exactly a possibility, but I feel like I am worn so thin, I can’t stand it. I hate getting so frustrated with him when he doesn’t even have a clue of what’s going on, but some days, I feel like I can’t do everything all day long. It was just one of those days. I think about maternity leave sometimes, and how awesome it was. I wish so hard I could afford to stay home with him because I know it’s not him that’s making me feel this way- it’s everything else.