- Perhaps I’ll start weaning at 6 months. EPing is a one-day-at-a-time thing. Perhaps by six months I’ll be in some kind of a groove where I’ll be happy to continue. Perhaps not. The wake up at midnight sessions are brutal, especially when I have to get up for real at 5:30. Every day I run through mental calculations of how much I need, how much I can store, how long it will last, how much it will take to just sustain, and so on and so forth. Luckily I’ve found a forum/community of other EPers; women who are just as, if not more, neurotic than I am over this whole lactation gig. If I do continue the current rate of production, and the current rate of consumption remains the same as well, I can go until 8 months and have enough stash to coast through the remaining 4 months. That’s my lofty goal, and it’s 4 months less pumping than I went through with BB, so surely I can do this. Surely? Except I may not have enough freezer space. In which case I go back to recalculating. As I do. Every. Single. Day.
- I’m thinking more and more of that Zoloft, waiting patiently in my pantry, calling to me ever so softly.
- Part of my problem, I’m nearly certain, is the lack of sunshine in my neck of the woods. According to climateZONE , we have 308 cloudy and partly cloudy days a year, and 155 days with precipitation. Oi. Recently, way too much precipitation. The flooding has been crazy. So many people have lost their homes and possessions. So many roads are damaged. It’s awful. Why do I live here? Oh. My job. And those 57 sunny days, that are simply stunning.
- Last week was very hard on me.
- I’m doing much better this week. I’m handling the daycare-wrenching-my-children-from-my-loving-embrace thing, and thankful for a little autonomy, even.
- I’ve lost a blanket. I don’t know HOW I could have managed such a feat, but I have. I’ve looked everywhere (except of course where it is, wherever that may be). Of course it’s my favorite.
- Tonight I plan to make pork chops, and cook enough to last for the next three days, as I will be too tired from the office and commute to cook. By Thursday, or even Wednesday, Gadget will probably be making excuses not to partake.
- If it weren’t up to me, we’d live on pizza, pasta, and enchiladas. I really should not give in so much, and just make what I like and tell them to “like it or lump it.” That’s what my mother told us when we made complaints about the menu.
- I love love LOVE those donation trucks that come by and take away all the crappe I don’t want anymore stuff I leave on my front porch. (It’s not all junk. A lot is almost new, maybe worn only once, such as my ‘nursing’ clothes — the mama pajamas with matching baby jammies, and all the nursing-friendly tops. I had high hopes. At least I didn’t spend a fortune on nursing bras.) BB is very lucky that the toys I confiscated yesterday didn’t end up in that truck. They’re in purgatory, for the time being. If he doesn’t notice they’ve gone, then they will shortly disappear for good, but if he does notice, then he will have to earn them back. I was SO tempted to put them out on the porch with the other things, though.
- LB’s hair has grown long enough to overcome its natural tendency to spike, so he looks completely different. He’s not my fuzzy monkey any more. But he’s still my snugglebear. My snugglebear with what looks like the beginning of a molar protruding from the side of his upper left gum. My slobber-faced snugglebear.
- I am still plagued by the phantom and nearly constant smell of second-hand smoke. I’m the only one affected, and it’s driving me batty.
- In an effort to assuage the above, I’ve just pumped two reservoirs full of saline solution through my sinuses, using my Grossan tip thingy. Now I feel dizzy, as one does, when one is not accustomed to having clear sinuses.
- Why is dinner time such a struggle with a 4-yr old? Oh. Because he’s four. Where is that Zoloft?
January 12th, 2009
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Posted in mental health, miscellaneous, motherhood, mundane
