I promised I wouldn't bore you or disgust you with an overabundance of details about parenting, so I'll try to stick with that.  So, here's an explanation of why I'm feeling so defeated this week.

Until last Monday, Daniel was just about a perfect baby.  Good sleeper, good eater, generally a pleasant disposition.  It turns out, though, that there were a few problems that we just hadn't noticed.  (These are all related to feeding.)

Problem #1 (which is not very major) was compensating for and hiding Problem #2.  Problem #2 should probably have been noticed at the hospital but wasn't. 

Problem #1 is minor, but when left alone for too long can (and did) cause Problem #3. 

Problem #3 then spiraled into Problem #4, which eliminated Problem #1 altogether.  Of course, once Problem #1 was eliminated, we discovered Problem #2.  Now that there's no Problem #1 to compensate for #2, nothing quite works the way it should.

In concert with a doctor and lactation consultant, we seem to have brought Problem #3 under control (though I'm not totally sure) and are working on the other three.  It might take a few weeks, they say. We have good days and bad days, and sometimes a day you think was good wasn't really so good after all.

Over the course of the week, Daniel has lost weight (he's supposed to gain about an ounce a day) and became a fussy baby (because he wasn't eating properly and was generally feeling uncomfortable).  He hasn't eaten right, hasn't slept right, and hasn't been very pleasant while he's awake.  About two-thirds of our day is spent on things related to his feeding issues (the physical act of feeding him and making sure he doesn't spit it all back up, pumping out his next meal, and cleaning up all of the related paraphernalia).  And I don't mean two-thirds of our waking day, either.

I really thought things were going better, but yesterday was bad again.  Finding out that he had dropped weight was especially bad.  It's exhausting and terrifying.  We were given some gifts this weekend of really cute outfits in the next few sizes up, and part of me looks at them and thinks Dan isn't going to make it to that size.  That part of me feels like I've already failed and just wants to crawl back to bed to die.

Of course, there's also the cold, pragmatic part of me that says I'm too stubborn, and we'll fix this (problems 1, 2, and 4) whether Daniel likes it or not.    If I start something, I'm going to see it through.  That part of me is doggedly frustrated but keeps on working anyway.

Then, there's also the part of me that does trust that God has all things in control and will work things out for His glory.  I'm (slowly) reading John right now, and every time we have a bad day, the next morning there's a passage like the opening of chapter 9 ("why is this man sick?  did he sin, or did his parents sin?"  "Neither.  This happened so that God could show His power.") or chapter 10 ("this sickness is not unto death") that helps remind me of these things.  This part of me is confident and calm, and is able to do what she has to do in peace and even joy.

I don't know which part will win out today.