Like a horrible, horrible person.
I suppose this isn't really news, but now I/we have just come to fully accept and maybe even embrace it.
Let me preface this by saying that Adeline is a fantastic baby. She has been from day one; she sleeps as much as one could expect from a 6 week old baby, maybe waking up twice in the night...
Let's just say, she does her part.
I however, come un-fucking-glued.
What is my deal!!?
You can see where this is going; I obviously don't take my irrational rage out on Addie...
Poor, poor, poor, poor, poor...poor Michael.
I look over at his slumbering form while I feed her and I just want to hit him with a shovel.
Just picture Addie starting to grunt and stir in her crib, cut to me, realizing that I am going to have to get up (not new news, but somehow still can't come to terms with it) and I just snap.
I passive-aggressively snap. I whip the covers off, just enough so that Michael wakes up to acknowledge that I am getting out of bed.
I am up. And he is still sleeping.
You know, just so he knows.
And then I sigh and huff dramatically.
You know, just so he knows I'm not happy about it.
And God help the man if he doesn't offer to feed her. I'm not going to let him, but he sure as shit better offer.
Keep in mind, I'm like a black-out drunk during this time. I am only partially aware of what I am doing, and really have no control over myself.
I can feel the crazy coming and I am powerless to stop it. I just have to board the crazy train and ride it out.
Michael has learned that his best defense is silence. He just curls up in the fetal position and stays silent.
He is scared shitless of me.
I am scared shitless of me.
Me: (fuming, huffing, sighing) I guess I'll go get the bottle now... Ugggghhhhhhh..errrggg...ahhh...shesuwhh...&^$%&(&^^%*#.
Michael: (In a completely innocent, non-confrontational, supportive whisper) Why don't you let me feed her so you can keep sleeping?
Me: (Eyes widening, face bulging with rage) Sorry, I guess I don't do it right. I only feed babies for a living, but since you're never wrong why don't you do it...
Michael: (Completely terrified, whimpering) You know being up at night doesn't affect me as much as it does you, why don't you just let me do it?
Me: Because then I won't be able to be as mad at you....Gahhhhhh...$^#&$*^%. Just go back to sleep! YOU have to work in the morning. I don't have to work in the morning. Staying here and taking care of two kids all day by myself is not a real job. I don't need as much sleep as you.
Michael: (chuckling) Did you just call me a dick? (Laughing, he rolls over and ignores me...far and away, the best tactic.)
Me: *^%)&^ !
Are you seeing all that crazy, cause that is a lot of crazy!!
Yes, I am completely serious.
The man can NOT win.
At least he has a sense of humor about it. He knows I'll wake up in the morning and be completely lovely again.
*Actually, I don't think I've ever woken up and been completely lovely in my whole life. Let's just say I wake up and I'm not homicidal.
I'm like a crazy-bitch werewolf.
The upside is, the next morning, after the blood on my fangs dries and the clumps of fur fall out, we both laugh about it...
It doesn't hurt that my overnight alter ego (whom we have aptly named Gunner Deathrage...which, incidentally, is also a contestant on the newest season of Project Runway) is extremely remorseful and likes to buy back the love from people she accidentally verbally bludgeons to death.
(Michael's favorite running shoes...in a completely bitchin' new color.)
Michael loves it when Ms. Deathrage verbally cuts his nuts off and then uses his own money to buy him a "I'm sorry I'm a heinous bitch" gift the next day...
So don't you worry about him.
I know what you're thinking...
But those running shoes have a wireless bomb in the heel;
He can't use them to run away...