I hate cleaning

Okay - there. I've said it. I freaking hate cleaning. I hate doing dishes, hate folding laundry, hate constantly having to sweep and mop and vacuum and pick up toys and toys and more toys. I love my children, love being home with them, but hate having trash everywhere, cups all over the place and so much laundry I can't ever catch up.

I'm hot, sweaty, sticky, my kids hate each other, and my nipple hurts so badly all I want to do is cry. And I would, but really, who does that help? Because I've still got five loads of laundry to fold, two beds that have been destroyed because the kids discovered that stripping them is wicked fun, Jessie's room is covered in so much crap because she collects things like there's no tomorrow and everyone is miserable.
It's not a pleasant day here.

I just need more painkiller (tylenol doesn't seem to do anything to alleviate the pain, but I keep taking it every four to six hours). I'm lucky, because Julie is napping really well, she's missed her normal morning nap because there was so much chaos, but she's been snoozing on the couch with a fan blowing near her, so she's cool and comfortable. I'm pumping now on the right side, I've tried to nurse her a new times, but honestly, it hurts so much I can't make myself do it anymore. There's literally a little ring of blood around my nipple. It's awful. The other side is still pain free, thank goodness, so I'm nursing on that side, giving her the breastmilk I pump in a bottle and hoping that it doesn't end up giving me mastitis because I know the pump doesn't work as effectively as her nursing would. Also praying that she doesn't quit nursing on me again - I've got such a visceral hatred and fear now of her taking a bottle.

Did I mention that it's not pleasant here today?

If it would just RAIN already, I think I'd be better. But it's a combination of everything, the breast soreness, the kids being so cranky because they're hot and sticky, the house being a mess because we had everyone here yesterday, and my lingering resentment that I'm home here, dealing with cranky miserable children, incredible pain in my breast and cleaning.

I keep reminding myself that I'll miss this time. That I'm so lucky to be able to have this time with my kids, and that there are little pockets of bliss that make it all worthwhile. Then I see the laundry all piled up, clean, but still waiting for me to fold it and put it away, and the toys that Sam's dumped out for the fourteenth time today, or Jess will take offense at some imagined slight and storm off to her bedroom in a flood of tears, and it seems like so much more work and unhappiness than I'd like. But there's joy here, and love and fun and sunshine and lollipops. I just need to work harder at finding it on a day like today, I guess.