Consequently, I find myself wholly unable to form the thoughtful, well-constructed paragraphs a post traditionally requires, nor can I make any attempt at connecting the wildly random thoughts flying through my addled mind, so bear with me.
First things first: Before anyone judges me too harshly for my current state (FROM ONE BEER! My God, what’s HAPPENED TO ME?! Oh, right. I haven't drank in nearly a year.), I’m done nursing. So as not to squick out any of my more squeamish readers, I’ll speak in code, replacing "breastmilk" with something we all know and love: COTTON CANDY! Yum!
I recently came to the conclusion that I was not producing enough COTTON CANDY for my kid. I would give her whatever COTTON CANDY I had, but she was still ravenous. So after sitting with her forever and feeding her the COTTON CANDY, I’d still need to supplement with formula. This was very, very time-consuming, and I was feeling guilty. Guilty because I felt...impatient that the whole feeding process was taking so damn long, and that because it was taking so long, I had much less time to play with T. If all of that makes any sense at all.
I hadn't had this problem when I'd nursed T, so I really didn’t know what to do. Also, I’m going back to work in less than a month, and just the thought of pumping at work again had me shuddering. My office is great, and has a private room for just that purpose, but even so, I’m not too keen on pumping COTTON CANDY, remembering to take it with me, keeping it cool on the subway and commuter rail, and sticking it in the freezer when I get home. And so, I made the decision to stop nursing. It was sort of sudden, and I’m a bit sad about the situation, because I actually do enjoy nursing. At the same time, I’m happy with my decision, because it's working out much better for all involved, and Lo is doing absolutely fine with the formula. (Plus, now I can use the beer boot on vacation. Everybody wins!)
Speaking of my kids, it's picture time! Here's my latest shot of her....
And him (yes, I know you can't see his face, but I love this shot):
In other news, it’s hot. (Wait, I’m going somewhere with this!) Because it’s hot, I’ve taken to wearing boy shorts around the apartment instead of heavy pajama pants most nights. And I must confess: Anytime I wear them? I start doing So You Think You Can Dance-style solo routines around my living room. Why? BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT THE GIRLS ON THE SHOW WEAR FOR THEIR SOLOS. Sadly, I do NOT think I can dance, so the results are…well, they’re tragic, is what they are, but still! I cannot stop myself! (I will, say, however, that I have my “Reach out! Artfully curl your fingers! Pull them back ever so wistfully!” move NAILED.) This is...weird, right? Like, very, very weird?
On yet another unrelated note, my dad sent me this a few weeks ago, and I giggle every time I watch it. (Particularly now. Because dude, THE BEER.) I'm sure it's made the rounds already, but just in case you haven't seen it yet, do yourself a favor and watch The Magic:
Finally, I need some help. My skin is generally pretty good: calm, not too dry, and only seldom does a pimple crop up. In the past week, however, I appear to have angered it in some way. I have not changed my skincare routine in the least, and yet all of a sudden, it's a war zone. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's a post-pregnancy, hormones-gone-kerflooey type situation (or at least that's what I'm telling myself so as not to WEEP OPENLY), but regardless, I am at a loss here. Has anyone else experienced this? If so, any suggestions? Short of animal sacrifice, I'm willing to give it a shot. I'm not kidding--I'm thisclose to calling this place about their bird poop facial, people. Help!