Babies cry for a reason. It works. It provokes a physical response in the caregivers. It's the only way that babies have to tell us that something is wrong. I don't like to hear my baby cry. Normally, it makes me want to provide care and help him.
Then there are times like this. It's been a sucky week, just sucky. I could certainly plow the vocab farm for a more descriptive and even melodious word, but it's really just been sucky. I am exhausted and not feeling well. I am sad about my cat.
And on the way home from picking up Pete at the airport, when Finn started crying, it provoked the other response. The one we are not supposed to talk about. The sighing, oh-jesus-not-again response of a parent who has spent the better part of the last two nights awake, alone with a sick, crying, thrashing baby.
Pete's on duty tonight. I'll fill in with the necessary boob at the appropriate moments, but then I'm off the clock. I'll delve fully into the suck-y-ness of this week later.