Nothin' but a self-induced heartache

I...don't know what to say. Tonight I want to grieve over a lost vision of my relationship with Anonybabe.

Between work and some househunting and writing assignments and a period that seems to have come back with a hormonal vengeance, I've been tetchy and short-tempered and distant with her. It's been hard to connect with her and I hoped that was a passing phase. She's also been driving me crazy; I don't always enjoy being around her. That has me worried and sad. It's ridiculous to expect to be on the same page as your kid forever, but more and more often I feel like I don't get her. And Instead of the warm, fuzzy idealistic future I've been envisioning, I see a darker, more isolated scenario. One in which I rarely understand where my daughter is coming from. One in which I don't even really want to be around her, and vice versa.

Here's what it boils down to: I think she's weird. The way she's always blabbering on drives me crazy. She catalogues everything that's happening, over and over. All 2 year olds are a little OCD but this...and her intonation is so peculiar. A friend said Anonybabe is like a living, breathing Dick and Jane book, but with a crazy lilt at the end of each word.

I worry there's something wrong, the kind of something wrong that'll keep us from being close. Even if it is only because Anonybabe is a garden variety eccentric.

How many mothers go through this? I suspect a lot, but it is unimaginable that the world can contain that much heartache.

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Later: Okay, I realize the asshattery involved in worrying so over a functioning, eating, sleeping, talking, and laughing 2 year old. What can I say? Old asshattery dies hard. No matter what her personality, her needs, her challenges, I have to learn the same lesson: enjoy her as she is, Anonyhub for Anonyhub, me for me no matter what. And guess what? It don't come natural. Sorry.