Thursday, March 26, 2015

In Which I Discover I Didn't Really Mean It

Dear Readers, I DO have mastitis!  (That is an exclamation point of WOE.)  I went and saw the smart lady doctor (my spouse teaches her son but this is a small town so we get used to this stuff.  For reference, the total 'city' land area is 2.5 square miles.)   And I am taking antibiotics (again!).  And fluconazole.  It turns out I really, really didn't want to wean the baby, no matter what I told myself.

So far, it got better, and now it feels a little worse (t=3.5 days).  I may have forgotten a dose in my sleep-deprived haze.  I keep telling myself it will be okay either way - and it will- but every time it gets a little worse I am basically sitting with a hot pack on my nipple, sobbing.  I'm not entirely sure the antibiotics are working.  I am trying to not succumb to despair.  She's only twelve weeks old.  I'm really, really not ready to wean her, and I feel terrible about having her lip tie clipped if it's going to be for nothing (even though she was totally fine by that afternoon).  WAAAAAAAH.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Third Time Lucky

Somehow, parenting with Sweetpea around - now that I can sleep some of the time, and have recovered most of my physical health - feels a little like redemption.  I don't remember actually enjoying this stage with either of the other children, but she's just darling.  It's probably all the things:  a much better support network, the knowledge that a little unhappiness won't kill any of my children, and the fact that the oldest child is gone seven hours a day in kindergarten.  It feels more graceful.  It feels easier.

However, I got a blocked duct this week.  Actually, I've had a somewhat-blocked duct for weeks, and it finally went into full-on OH FUCK.  Not only does it hurt like the dickens, it's a herald of possible mastitis.... which, in turn, sent me into a full-on weeping breakdown.  I kept saying that if I got mastitis, I'd wean the baby, but it turns out I'm bargaining with myself in my head.  (Because that turned out SO well last time.)  And... the doctor I see here, I don't actually trust to deal with this.  Actually, on reflection, I don't really trust anyone to make it better, on the grounds that even an expert failed rather.  So, fuck.

Monday, March 09, 2015

Return of Five Minute Blogging: Slightly More Graceful

Dear Readers, though life with an infant still feels like someone stuffed my head with cotton and dipped my life in cold honey, it's somehow not as bad as I remember.  It's probably all the things: living in a small town where people help each other out a lot, living closer to my parents (my mother folded my laundry and took my children outside while I napped, this weekend), finally having a reasonable income (postdoc salaries for four people are an exercise in frugality), and... finally feeling like I know what I'm doing.   Dr. S reminded me that we never let Bug cry as a baby without picking him up.  At this moment, Sweetpea is crying, and in five minutes I will pick her up and nurse her.  But in the meanwhile, she'll be fine.  I feel much less trapped than I did with either of the boys.  The weather her is much warmer, of course, which helps; but also I feel like I can see when it will get better.

(Also, I suppose the first month was so dreadful that anything seems like an improvement.  I fell asleep yesterday - for a nap! - without pharmaceutical assistance for the first time in nine weeks!  I am finally not taking any more controlled substances!  Pursuant to which, I did try to see a psychiatrist, but there is only ONE in town who doesn't work for the [dreadful] community services board, and his voicemail was full and he was out of town.  Meanwhile, I seem to have sorted out my mental health myself, so bah, whatever.)

The snow has melted!  My flowers are sprouting!  I'm about to dig up a hillside and plant an enormous flower bed!  (This is only somewhat unreasonably ambitious.  The co-op gardening plans, which start with "dig up 100 sf peony bed", are maybe fairly unreasonably ambitious.  But we did it last year!)

And so onwards.

Monday, March 02, 2015

They Have Their Moments

Tatoe to Sweetpea:  "Baby sistah, is you done milking?"

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

All The Things. Now.

The baby, it turns out, has a lip tie in addition to the tongue tie.  So I also have to deal with that (at the hospital complex 45 minutes away).  I mention this only to say, it still hurts to nurse, and dammit, couldn't I have had ONE child without some kind of horrible nursing problem?  (No.)

I had almost forgotten the intense frustration of having an infant around.  It's so hard to do anything!  Any sustained effort is probably fruitless!  I want an hour alone and not in Walmart!  I will get these things once the baby is weaned.  It will be a long damn time.

The department secretary for Psuedo-Military U emailed me last week, asking for my resume for their Whatever Colleges of the South accreditation review.  Since I might be teaching again in the fall.

Although I know it would have been insane to teach with a three-week-old around, let me tell you how much I miss having a three-hour break each day from my darling children.  For which I got paid, instead of having to pay other people for it.  (Well.  I did have to pay for childcare but I still net got paid.)  So it's something to hope for.  The glamorous life of an adjunct who is married to a faculty member!  They know I'm not leaving town any time soon.

My overwhelming desire to be Elsewhere, Immediately (as opposed to be here now) is... slowly fading, however.  Newborns, well, they're very demanding and not very interactive.  And I lost a great deal of strength while I was pregnant, what with feeling ill and in pain all the time.  And the whole postpartum anxiety/I can't sleep/RUN it's a bear/Startle reflexes: they're not just for infants! is getting better but I think it's time to consult a trained medical professional of the psychiatrist persuasion because... shouldn't it be all better by now?  It's been eight whole weeks!  Sometimes there's a whole one day a week when I'm not woken up six times a night!  Why on earth would my brain think it needs to startle awake all the time?  Why are these things not all better NOW?

Friday, February 20, 2015

Snow. Week.

Dear Readers, school has been closed all week.  If I wanted to be with my darling children all day, then a) I would be better set up for it than I am, which is not at all, and b) I would homeschool.

I have nothing else to say - nothing that isn't terribly whiny, that is.  But perhaps, while it ices/snows/rains all weekend, I will process my incoherent thoughts on: my friend/neighbor who's expecting her first, and about whom I'm a little worried (family all abroad, not enough support, etc; possibly echoes of me doing basically the same thing with my first and being miserable); the endless HITTING in which my sweet children engage; crazy people who think there's going to be the  Republican equivalent of a zombie apocalypse; crazy people, highly overlapping with above, who think that 'natural antibiotics' are actually a thing worth pursuing; crazy people, whom I otherwise like, who have contracted a completely scientifically inaccurate fear of GMOs (FFS, eating DNA doesn't hurt you); how much I miss having a job to go to every day for a few hours; all the housework that isn't getting done.

And now I hear the baby crying.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

If Only...

... I could fall asleep like a normal person at night, rather than staring at the insides of my eyelids, then I might occasionally feel human again.  She slept for six hours last night!  In a row!  I did NOT.  Alas, sleeping is the one thing where the harder one tries, the less success.

(Yes, I meditate and do yoga and breathing exercises and don't drink caffeine and have 'good sleep habits' and something is still all hormonally screwed up- usually I have trouble waking up, not falling asleep- and none if it makes any difference, including the drugs, sometimes.  Yes, I have tried not taking the drugs, all available combinations of the above and so on, and it doesn't work.  I'm just whining.)

In addition, Tatoe is not sleeping well (he has a cold) and is therefore several times as much THREE which involves a great deal of screaming, hitting, and arguing about trivialities ("I wanna go out!"  "Let's put your coat on." "No!"  "Okay, then no outside, it's cold." "NO!  NO NO NO! I CAN'T put it on!  I don't know how!" [N.B.: This is a lie.]  "Okay, don't."  "I wanna put my coat on!"  "I'm going to go have a stiff drink and lock you in your room and we can try again in five minutes.")