Where did I go wrong??

A disclaimer before I start. I love my little gaffer, really I do. I wouldn't trade him for anything. And the good far outweighs the bad.

Having said that:

I hate it when all I can smell is puke, because he won't stop spitting up, and it's on his clothes and my clothes and in my hair and on his breath and I can't stop carrying him around to get away from the puke breath because he won't stop crying. I hate it when I think I have established a bedtime for him at 7 and am celebrating this small success and then suddenly he won't go to bed before 10. And worse, I've made plans for how to spend those hours after he's in bed, and then I'm upset because those plans go out the window. I hate that this is the first week that I am supposedly training for a half marathon in September, and it's Thursday already and I haven't run once this week. No wait, I did. I ran half a mile on the treadmill yesterday - just over five minutes, and then he was awake and crying for me again. I hate that when I put him to sleep I spend the next half hour hanging around outside his room listening for any little twitch that means he's not really asleep yet and is about to cry, and then when it finally happens I am mad at myself for not having done something with that half hour while I had the chance. I hate it when he pulls my hair and his fist is clenched so tight that he's nearly cutting off his own circulation. I hate when he cries with his eyes squeezed shut and doesn't even realize that I've done something to fix the crying (like moving him so he can see something) because he won't open them again. I hate changing his clothes because he hates having them changed and screams when I do it. I hate that almost every single time I lower him into his crib, having spent the last half hour rocking and singing and carrying him around even though my right shoulder is throbbing by the end of the day, his eyes fly open and it's back to square one again. I hate that even though I am on maternity leave and this is supposed to be my day's work, I wish I were getting other things done too and am mad when they don't happen. I hate when Chad comes home and Liam is in a great mood and it looks like everything has been easy-peasy lemon squeezy when really I've had an awful day with him up til that point. Chad never says anything but I sometimes feel like I have to justify why I am so worn out when everything appears hunky dory. I hate it when I practically forget that I have a cat that I used to spoil rotten, and now I sometimes forget to feed him on time or leave him outside for too long because I've forgotten he's there. I hate that after being away for three days, Chad comes home and breezes past me having barely said hello on his beeline way up to Liam's room. (Well... actually, I guess that's kind of cute.) And I hate that after complaining about all of this, today is probably going to be a wonderful day when Liam is smiling and learning and growing, and I am going to look back on having written this and feel like such a heel for having felt this way.

(Picture is from about two weeks ago.)