mostly about me

Why the silence? Quick answer: I've been really ill. Since the day before Christmas Eve, it seems that all of my digestive functions have been hardwired to my pain circuits. Food - any food, from fruit to candy to plain white rice - gives me horrendous cramps. It's a lot like being in pre-labour, in that the pain is all-consuming when it strikes, comes in clusters, and then is quick to fade away. Yesterday I also developed a fever for several hours, but that went away in the middle of the night.

The constant illness added to a hectic holiday schedule (everyone HAS to see the new baby and no one will let me decline) has resulted in a very difficult suite of days. My old response to sickness was always to crawl into bed & let evryone take care of me. Now that I have to feed a ravenous baby every 1-3 hours, I find myself nursing through cramps that make me weep & wail. The tears fall on the baby, who doesn't seem to mind. I've thought about weaning him to formula every couple of hours - especially in the middle of the night.

(I'm telling you: if I develop the slightest problem with breastfeeding, I'm weaning. That will be the last goddamn straw. I know that according to the books on breastfeeding, the solution to everything is more breastfeeding - which makes me feel like I've joined the Moonies & I'll have to be deprogrammed in 8 months. Breastfeeding does not at all feel like the solution to my problems, but I suppose I need to have more faith in Kitzinger a.k.a. the Leader Bean.)

My second response to this illness only seems logical to me: I've tried to stop eating anything but fruit, water & fibre. My mom is having a cow - every time she's home she's making me food & lecturing me about eating. Apparently if I slow down to less than 7 meals a day, I'll lose my milk. We're compromising: I'll eat the eggs & toast if I can concentrate on what I want to eat. The problem is that nothing works. Not over-the-counter remedies, not my monkey fruit diet, not a normal diet. Anything I try brings me right back to hunching over my middle, tears blotching my shirt.

You can see why I've had little time to even sit at the computer, let alone compose coherent prose. Today has been a lot better, and I dare to think that I'm starting to anticipate and manage the pain as best I can. I suppose that's all I can do until it goes away or I get help.

I guess the silver lining is that the Sprout is fine. Thriving, even. He did very well at all the holiday gatherings, and was admired by all. He's getting a double chin, which pleases me immensely. As Hectate said at our last appointment, I'm making him grow outside me, just like I helped him to grow when he was inside. Because I'm a lit geek, I immediately thought of Macbeth:

"I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing."

All told, much nicer than the infanticide passages. And "This Night Has Opened My Eyes," by the Smiths - which I heard for the first time this week. ("Hatful of Hollow" was the Boy's wonderful Christmas present to me, so I've been expanding my very limited knowledge of the Smiths. Listening to these recordings gives me a huge rush of endorphins that is quite scary when you think about it.)

and I'm not happy and I'm not sad...

You know how everyone says that Christmas is for children? There really should be a minimum age attatched to that statement. Blake, being a Christmas baby, was showered with both birth & Christmas gifts from far and wide...but I can't honestly say that it made much of an impression on him. I think he's far more interested in the fact that I am now willing to feed him every hour for certain periods in the afternoon & evening.

(I used to wait 3 hours, but I'm moving into "actual" demand feeding rather than just "let's pretend" demand feeding. In retrospect it's amazing how uptight I was about insisting that "he couldn't be hungry; it's only been 2 hours!" I think that it was residual selfishness making a final stand before I could be consumed by the 24-hour job that is breastfeeding. I can't say that I enjoy unbuttoning & rebuttoning my bra continuously for 4 hours, but he is starting to sleep for 5 straight hours in the dead of night so I'll take the trade.)

I wish I could adequately describe his strength, his quick intelligence, his secret smiles, his lung-busting protests, and his oblivious sleeping beauty. He's an amazing piece of work. I'm glad I was religious before all of this began or I'd be getting an awfully swelled head from his utter perfection. I didn't make him, but Someone did a fantastic job.

Pictures from the week that was:

The Boy plays a miniature piano.
Yet another moment to bring out my inner Lucy Van Pelt...

Scout & Sprout - now with 75% less evil!

The Boy is catching up on his literature homework while he watches the baby. Despite his literary name, Blake, like most undergraduates, responds to "The Faerie Queene" with a great wailing & gnashing of teeth. Good thing he wasn't an Una.

Blake confronts his own iconic image and is not serene.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/29/2003 11:25:00 p.m.