As we close in on 10 weeks I alternate between terror and denial that I have to return to work soon. This is compounded by the fact that up until recently I had been counting wrong and have to go back even a week earlier than I thought. Boo.
It's not so much that I'm overly attached - I know she'll be in good hands with her doting grandmother. It's much more selfish than that.
I'm not ready to be part of the world again yet.
I'm just starting to get the hang of this. I'm just starting to feel like the pump isn't ruling my life (or ruining my life).
I'm not all that bothered by not bathing or getting dressed each day, and I definitely don't miss laboring over my hair or makeup. I spend my days like this:
And that thing, that creature, that little parasite on my lap - I think she's just starting to get the hang of it too:
She's sorta kinda sometimes sleeping for six hours at night. She's still unbelievably pukey, but she usually follows each eruption with a big smile. She has a great smile:
It's still really hard. I get frustrated when I can't just make something to eat whenever I'm hungry or run to the store easily, heck, it's hard to even fit in a bathroom break. I am still exhausted, and don't foresee catching up anytime soon. I'm not sure how I'll force myself to stay awake at my less than thrilling desk job. I'm not sure how to keep myself from gaining a million pounds when I have that uninterrupted time to eat again. I don't know what I'll do when I can't catch a little cat nap with this booger on my chest:
"Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you." ~Carl Sandburg