Nursing itself is going all right. For the first week, I had some horrendously sore nipples, complete with cracking, bleeding, and blistering. The culprit, I was told, was Sam's reluctance to take more than just the nipple into his mouth; I needed to encourage him to open his mouth wider before allowing him to latch. Well, Sam wasn't happy with my lessons. Interruptions for repositioning were met with extreme hostility, in fact. Still, the determination of my aching mammaries won out in the end, and all seems to be healing up nicely.

Our only remaining problem seems to be one of supply. Specifically, I seem to have a rather large one; a few seconds into the feeding finds Sammy coughing, arching his back, and pulling away in surprise. After talking to a few people, we've begun to do more "uphill" nursing - on my side or on my back - to allow Sam to better deal with the flow. He seems pretty unfazed by the forceful let-down after the initial reaction, so I'm optimistic that things will work out well.

We can't decide whom he resembles. A few times, especially while nursing him, I've caught brief glimpses of my brother in his eyes. His feet are Eric's; I think the smile may be mine. The hair is everybody's, at least for now.

I suppose I was on so much of an emotional high throughout my pregnancy that a horrible crash should come as no surprise. I've been a wreck for much of the last two weeks, and while I can almost begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I'm still having far too many moments of uncontrollable crying and anxiety to feel anything but exhaustion most of the time.

It started when Mom and Dad had to leave on Wednesday of last week. I've never, never, been homesick in my life, and yet I found myself weeping hysterically at the thought of my mother being gone. I felt, and feel, so horribly guilty that most of her time off from work and with her grandson was "wasted" by having to help me through the length of my labor. Strangely, the bulk of my guilt seems to be centered around trying to enjoy Sam while she's not here to do so. I miss her so very much that my heart constricts to remember those moments when she was here, holding Sam.

She was hurting when she had to leave, too, though she did her best to try to keep it from me; when I saw her break into tears as her car pulled away, I though I was going to die on the spot.

The second thing driving me up a wall is that the in-laws are still here. They've been here over a week and won't be leaving until tomorrow, and I am going absolutely mad with wanting them to just go away. It's not that they're doing anything specifically wrong; I just very much need to be alone now, thank you very much. I don't want to be a hostess anymore; I want to be mother and wife.

Ah, yes, and then there's the "wife" part. I don't want to get into too many raw, hurtful details, at least not yet, but I'm not the only one in this house struggling with new emotions. I'm not sure how to put this delicately; words have been exchanged between the two of us that have been beyond hurtful. Please don't email me to say that it's just a lack of sleep or some such thing, and that everything will be back to normal in a few weeks. This is not a simple matter of a little stress. Eric's been taking walks every night to get away from the house, and I actually found myself fantasizing about taking Sam and going home to my parents' house. Of course, I'd never actually do such a thing, and when I consciously realized what was going through my mind, I went immediately to Eric to talk.

Turns out that he'd been having similar fantasies.

I was shocked and hurt. I suggested that we go talk to the minister at church, but Eric seemed lukewarm to the idea. He believes that this is something through which he needs to work on his own - the idea that Sam's arrival represents an end to personal freedom. Eric's hurts have been germinating for some time, it seems, and now are fully coming to a head - especially volatile timing, considering my own current fragility.

We'll get through this; I know we will. I just pray that we can do so quickly and with a minimal effect on Sam's earliest weeks with us. More personal delusion? Who can say?

At night, he sleeps on his side, curled as close to my breast as he can possibly get. His slight, warm breath against my skin brings me unimaginable delight. His little hands reach out in sleep to grasp for me, and small sighs escape his tiny mouth when they find me.

No matter how tired I am, physically or emotionally, I wouldn't miss these nights for the world.