I knew having a newborn would be tough, I remember the days of bringing Griffin home and having him scream around the clock. No feel-good memory loss for me, I remember
clearly.
And I knew what to expect, breastfeeding exclusively with boobs that just don't like to produce milk. And I had resigned to the fact that the next year of my life was going to be spent nursing, nursing, nursing, not sleeping and (hopefully) working. You know that working part, so important because you need to buy food so you can make milk and nurse.
But the
preparing myself and
actual realization are two different things, of course, and last Thursday I really thought the lack of sleep was going to kill me. Not so much the nursing, even though, damn kid could you stay off for a full hour? Please? But the lack of sleep.
I like my sleep.
As I was breastfeeding Emery I was thinking of ways I could kill Aaron, that bastard. That bastard who did this to me and doesn't have to breastfeed. What kind of biological bullshit is that? And what's the best way to revenge those who Sleep Peacefully for More than an Hour at a Time? Because this was heavy on my mind.
But The Gods have a way of putting you in your place. As for my place, that is called Mastitis.
Last Friday I felt weird, but blamed it on lack of sleep. Saturday, though, the shooting pain in my breast began along with a fever of 103 that brought with it chills (complete with unintentional moaning) and sweats. A midwife was nice enough to call me in a prescription over the holiday weekend (after I cried and begged to not send me and a newborn babe to the ER).
And one would tend to think that would help, but
no. Four days later and everything was the same, except I had wised-up enough to keep myself filled of Tylenol and Advil to try to keep my fever (and chills and sweats) under control.
Tuesday morning I dragged my ass (and the baby in tow) (Aaron went to work) (that bastard) (while I was still sick!) to the doctor's office and got a new prescription. So we stopped at the pharmacy to pick it up and...
Yeah. No.
The new prescription wasn't gluten-free.
I had to fight with the pharmacy for a few hours to Figure Shit Out and it turned out oh hey, THEY CAN ORDER MEDICATION. Which meant that by the time everything was said and done I started the proper prescription Wednesday night.
Which means, of course, that the story isn't over yet.
Because The Gods? They have a sense of humor. And decided it would SUPER FUNNY if Darwin woke up with the croup Thursday morning.
And seriously, we contemplated if he needed to go to the ER or was his oxygen high enough to make it to the doctor in a few hours. No blue lips, thankfully. So we waited. And Aaron took Dar to the doctor, while I stayed home with Emerson in hopes of me and Emery not catching the croup because THAT'S JUST WHAT WE NEED RIGHT NOW, for a three-week old baby to have breathing problems.
So Darwin's been home for two days, but is suppose to be avoiding me and the baby so we don't get the croup. But Aaron's at work and guess who has to care for the poor sick boy? And I mean besides his DSi.
And then, just for shits and giggles, between the time I sat down and
started this post and now, a water main broke right in front of my house, flooding the driveway and garage with muddy water and now there's a nice big hole in my driveway that could easily dispose of a dead body.
Any body have a dead body to dispose of?
If this week had a body I would have already called dibs.
[gratuitous photo of three-week old Emerson, because I know why you all are really visiting]
