I hate that question. HATE it. Why? Because it's one of those questions that people don't want to hear an honest answer to. It's like a coworker asking how you're doing. They're just doing it to make polite conversation, and the only answer they really want to hear is "good" or "fine" or, at worst, "ok". No one (except your best friends, and sometimes not even them) wants to hear that your dog died, your grandma is sick, and you're PMS-ing like nobody's business, even if it's all 100% true.
The "Don't you just love being a mommy?" question is sort of the same. Everyone who asks it assumes they know what your answer is going to be - they expect a "Yes, I loooooooove it!" Anything else would be socially unacceptable, no matter how true.
Someone asked me that today, and it took everything in me to force a smile and say, "Yeah, it's great" with a little bit of fake enthusiasm. Because it's not great. In fact, it's hard, it's exhausting, it's wearing me down physically and mentally, and I wonder at least once a day why I wanted kids and how I can trade mine in for a child-free existence. I'm horrible at this mom thing. Absolutely horrible.
It breaks my heart to say this, but I really don't think I'm cut out to be a mother. I have done nothing but struggle for the last three months, and I don't feel like I'm making any progress or getting any better at it. It makes me feel sorry for my poor kid. I hope things get better. I need things to get better. I want motherhood to be fun and rewarding and as great for me as it seems to be for everyone else. I don't know why, but it isn't.
I like going to work every day because I can forget all about being a mother (except when I'm pumping). I get about five minutes of good time a day with the baby. He's asleep when I leave in the morning. He's great for a few minutes when I get home in the evening. Then, he gets cranky and fussy and just wants his dad. Unfortunately for me, his dad has had him all day, and is more than ready for me to take over when I get home. So I get the cranky, fussy baby. There has to be some balance that we haven't figured out yet that allows me some down time to unwind from work, and allows B to get some time away from the baby, too. I'm at the point that I want to get in my car, drive away, and never come back. And I don't know where to turn for help.
And those are my disjointed, whackjob ramblings for today.