Losing it.

I have been on edge all day and finally lost it this evening over toothbrushing. My son has been alternately very clingy and very mouthy since he went to the ultrasound with us Monday. He has also reverted back to waking at 5:30, which I had forgotten is a lot more difficult even than his usual wakeup time of 6. It's funny how sometimes you can see when that switch clicks. It seems that suddenly he realizes that there will be another person in the house. Today was one of those days where I couldn't even make a comment without him whining, screaming or climbing into my lap while doing a combination of the first two.

Anyway, I'd managed to deal with all of it with relative grace, keeping the rules, remaining calm and allowing him to cling as much as he needs. But, for some reason I just lost it while I was helping him brush his teeth. I asked him a question and was met with that grating, nails-on-a-chalkboard whine that tells you that anything you say or do will create only more whining and/or screaming. I had to leave the room, then broke down sobbing in the living room like a giant idiot. My exit made him whine and cry, then seeing me cry sent him shrieking, which of course made me cry harder. Ta-dah! My husband finally intervened, calmed him down and is now putting him to bed.

God, sometimes I feel so unequipped for this. When Ragsy was born, it was like having a ton of bricks laid in my lap. There was always so much responsibility - have to take care of him, have to take care of myself, have to take care of the husband (sometimes), have to take care of the marriage, have to take care of the house, have to take care of the cats (one of which is now sick and sneezing everywhere). You'd think that now that I know what to expect from having the first that the second would be difficult, but there wouldn't be any surprises.

Well, to my surprise, I'm finding out I'm much worse at this parenting thing than I thought. I've also discovered that I'm a horrible person masquerading as a nice one. And, thanks to the choroid plexus cysts, I'm a lot more paranoid than I was my first pregnancy.

Oh, and kids really are smarter than you give them credit for. My son asked me the other day if I would break when the baby came out. He thought it'd burrow its way out of my stomach, not unlike the creature in Alien. I gave him the basics of where the baby would come out and told him that I might be tired and a little sick feeling afterward, but it wouldn't take long before I was ok. But maybe I lied. Maybe I'm breaking now or going absoultely freaking nuts.