I know I am being unreasonable. I know it isn't his fault. I know it's probably my failing as a parent somehow. I love the happy moments, which are rare. I try so hard to cherish our time together while he is small. I do not regret having a child. I just wish the child I was so blessed to have was easier.
He is only 15 months old, still a baby really. He doesn't sleep. He won't eat solid food. He has millions of teeth. He demands milk and won't take it from anything other than a baby bottle. If I try and limit milk, he wakes up screaming all night long because he is so hungry. He doesn't walk and won't hold my hand to steady himself to even try. I dread every meal time. I dread bedtime because I know it will be an hours long struggle. I secretly dread the morning, afternoon, and evening if we are alone together because every day is so long and lonely, even when we are around friends and family. The tantrums, dear God, they're merciless. I hate being with other mothers with children of the same age. Everyone seems to have it figured out but me.
I feel isolated, tired, constantly ill, deficient in everything despite being on supplements and drinking immunity yoghurt drinks every day. I feel like a terrible mother and a shit person. He's draining the life from me and my relationship with his dad (we are together) is broken. We were so happy before.
I love my child insurmountably but I can't help but feel resentment too. He himself is not deficient in anything and doctors have no concerns. We've done all that, more than once. I hate myself for feeling this way.