Pouting

This week has been rough.
I have this overwhelming desire to crawl back to bed, defeated.

This morning, I cooked everyone breakfast and knocked into the wall on my way to the table.  Our breakfast became the dogs and I literally put my head in my hands and cried.  When I couldn't find a towel to clean it up, I cried some more. 

It's been cold in the mornings, for August anyway, and I'm confused.  We've all had summer colds that have come and gone, and now it's cool and damp and the dog tracks water through the house.  My cat has been peeing on all of Lane's toys.

LANE has been screaming for breastfeeding.  I go through all of these emotional thoughts, should i feed him, should i distract him, is he really hungry, is he bored.  I try to feed him banana or read him books.  Every solution is met with screaming until I finally give in only to have him look up at me after TWO SECONDS, smile, and crawl off my lap.  At night, when I try to replace myself with a paci, a technique that used to be met with rave reviews, I get a serious temper tantrum.  Serious.  Clamped shut mouth, high pitched screams.  I keep thinking, what have I done wrong here?

He's starting to assert independence, or at least preferences.  He's got thoughts about things, wants things, is frustrated because he can't talk, but this taste of independence has sent me into shock. 

I have a willful child.  Of course I do.  This week I've been thinking - what have I done - about pretty much every decision I've made. 

And tomorrow is my birthday.

All I want is pasta with cream sauce.  Sourdough bread with butter.  FOR BREAKFAST.