I’ve been jonesing to blog, but my mental landscape is cluttered. I’ve spent the last week adjusting to the new school term, which means I’ve been stuffing my brain with facts about banjos and Appalachian dulcimers instead of watching So You Think You Can Dance. This is a grim trade. A very grim trade indeed.
Damn. Appalachian dulcimers are selfish.
A few days before school started, I got sick. Another case of mastitis. I just can’t seem to get enough of infections of the breasticle. Infesticle of the breasticle, as I sometimes call it when I’m chillin’ with my doctor friends. So during this infesticle of the breasticle, Ryan continued to work per usual while I laid on the couch and tried not to forget to feed my children.
I just want to stop and point out that I’m not the type of lady who lets her kids behave like crap just because she’s sick. As a mother, I’m very, very far from perfect – like how far awesomeness is from Baker City. But my general philosophy is: I’m sick now and I will get better but a child who gets away with behaving like crap now will behave like crap forever. You feel me?
So after a couple of days nursing my breasticle back to health (see what I did there?), sweet Baby Ham decided to have the absolute worst timing possible and gave up nursing altogether. So I was all like, ” BABY HAM WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM WE ARE NOT QUITTERS IN THIS FAMILY.” And he was like, “WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” Really loudly. So he won.
He looks pretty pleased with himself, doesn’t he? Now I know what you’re about to say, but he didn’t refuse to nurse because of the infesticle. And I didn’t eat too much broccoli or too many onion rings (as if that’s even possible) or something else babies hate. This baby has just had enough.
The abrupt cessation of nursing, along with the mastitis and the start of school, meant my hormones were getting allllllll crazy up in here. So I kind-of fell of the grid for a few days. And by “fell off the grid,” I don’t mean like Zooey Deschanel on The New Girl. I definitely did NOT get very drunk, pretend I was a girl named Katie, and get sexy with a someone in the bathroom of a bar. It was more like crying at near-strangers over the phone, having meltdowns because there were more than 5 dirty dishes in the sink, and becoming convinced that happiness will forever elude me.
I’m pretty much back now, though. Aren’t you relieved? I am. Baby Ham is loving his formula and Mama C is loving that her boobs don’t have to show up to work anymore.