Turns out, no one did, or could, rescue me but me. I left on my own, with a four month old baby in tow and moved into my sister's spare bedroom.
Tonight, nearly two years later, I had that same yearning. That same feeling of wanting someone else to hand me a different life, make me be someone else somewhere else.
The catalyst for this self pitying melt down: a disastrous dinner. My painstakingly made raviolis turned into a giant pile of mush, and I totally lost it. Just a failed dinner, but I found myself sobbing in the kitchen, first about my inedible raviolis then my ever on the edge finances, lack of personal time, frustrating session with a new mom, ect ect.
Just like before, though, it's clear to me that this my life, and this time, I don't really want out.
So, I threw out the pasta, and made Avery some toast and a fried egg. We went for a walk, watched part of the Red Sox game. We spent a long time nursing tonight. His breath finally slowed down and I eased him into his bed to go cook tomorrow's dinner.