Somedays the only comfort I find is in the bottom of the shower, with hot water running over my face; no one knows I'm crying. In a dark room I feel safe, the only light is a dim glow of the heater. Somedays I'm ashamed.

My whole pregnancy I struggled to comprehend how I would share my love between two children. How I could love another, when my whole world is already in my arms. What a shock it was to find how i truly felt, when I came home from hospital and reality set in. 

After the perfect “I got this” first three days at home... Archer decided to start holding in his wind, constantly feeding for comfort and only wanting to settle for Dad because the smell of my breastmilk would keep him wanting more. During all of this I never once was frustrated with my newborn son; I had 100% patience with him. Whereas my two year old, who just wanted to be the centre of mummies world again was being yelled at... 

“Stop”

“Put that down”

“Smack?”

“Charlie please don't”

What was he doing wrong? I couldn't tell you. He was just being around his mum and his new little brother. Probably wanting to help and to have some of the attention that is now being given to someone els. 

I find that my fuse with Charlie is short. Things I use to laugh off or brush over and ignore now leads to punishment and being told off. I'm lashing out, no I'm not hurting him. I yell at him, I smack his hand more often than I should; sometimes I feel like I am learning to despise him. My own son. 

Charlie is my whole world and has been for the past two years. Immediately after I lash out at him I breakdown, the emotions I feel just consume me and tears begin to flow. He is crying, I am crying. He wipes my tears and we cuddle. I feel like he is my rock but also the hammer which smashes it to pieces.