Shocked disbelief has turned to anger. This has brought to mind the stages of grief. It's quite melodramatic, isn't it, considering how lucky I am to be with my baby for a short while during my lunch hour (most days) and then all night? No one has died. No one has left me.
But I am angry. Punch-something, pull-out-my-hair angry. I cried a little less today, but I can't say it's because "things are getting better." I wish I could.
I want something to blame, something to be mad at other than "circumstance." But there's nothing. I keep asking why this is the way it is, but there's no answer.
If it is a kind of grief, when will I reach acceptance rather than just bearing it quietly? I keep thinking that if this were temporary -- if it were a day spent away from him, or even a week -- this would be easy. The fact that this schedule is forever makes it impossible to accept. (Am I at the bargaining stage already?)
Fletcher, our baby, so dependent on us... and now I, so dependent on him...
Of course, four hours of sleep and an empty stomach do little to mollify this new pissed-at-the-world temperament. I'll find a snack, get to work, and return to the quiet enduring.
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