Pump 'til You Drop.

Ever feel like your life revolves around breastfeeding and pumping?

Right now, I do. As in, I'm pumping while I watch Top Chef type this.

Why? Because the little man is taking a 7-8 oz. bottle while I work, and I'm getting 4-5 oz. when I pump at work. I pump after he eats in the morning (he used to eat off one side in the morning, but now he eats off both), and I get around 2 oz. that go straight to oatmeal.

So, if you do that math, you see our freezer stash is slowly shrinking. And now I'm pumping whenever I get a chance so that we don't fall behind.

It's the first time since about 2 months in that I'm feeling pressured about my supply. I am fine when he doesn't need a bottle (in fact, no matter how much I pump, Goober can always get more himself), but oh those bottles are knocking me out. I'm trying to just take a deep breath and stay hydrated.

Come on milk, keep it pumping!

A Post in Which I Kick Myself.

I've been postponing the purchase of Gabe's first cloth swim diaper. He grows like a weed. I told myself-- at the end of May, weigh him and order one so he can debut with the pools. But did I order a swim diaper? No.

So yesterday and today I spent my afternoon attempting to find a place that first of all has any swim diaper in my son's size-- pretty much every cloth diaper baby boy in America must be between 21-30 pounds right now because just about every diaper for my almost 22 pound son is sold out. And then, ya know, I tried to find a diaper that I think is cute. And oh, we need this diaper, mmmm, Saturday... so how 'bout affordable 3 day shipping.

I guess maybe more than anything this little neglecting to order a swim diaper in a timely fashion is just a reminder that I am always behind anymore. I got so excited that I finally got the piles of clean laundry in our bedroom put away, but it doesn't take long for other things to start piling. I know it's mommyhood, but I wish I could keep up and keep a Martha Stewart-worthy home. More than anything, I just want a darn swim diaper solution. (If that's my biggest issue in life right now, I know I have it pretty good.)

So this post is a lament. And a call for help. Anyone have any swim diaper suggestions asap?! I pretty much refuse to buy a disposable swim diaper.

The Spit Up Blues

I didn't have baby blues-- oh, I was emotional after Goober was born for a good two weeks, but it was a "my life is too beautiful/i can't believe he's my baby" emotional that was full of happy tears.

I should have known something would get me down along the way. And it's not a depressive-my-life-is-ending down, but it's an I'm-too-tired-I'm-too-this-that-and-the-other down.

Let's just call it Spit Up Blues.

Because last night, after being spit up on for the umpteenth time that day, I cried. I cried for my dirty laundry. I cried for my poor little refluxing baby. I cried for my stretch marks. I cried for the weight I have to lose. I cried for the sleep I want and need so badly. I cried for my overworked and underpaid breasts. I cried for my lack of hair drying time. I cried for all of the things my husband doesn't understand about me being a full-time Mommy. I cried for the money we had to spend on our car in the shop. I cried for Conan O'Brien. Let's just say, I cried for a lot of things.

But it was mostly about spit up.

And I know it could be worse! I know I could have a baby with colic. I know I could have a truly ill baby. I know I could have to deal with a lot of things that would be worse than spit up. But last night, at that moment, I had had enough of the spit up. And to be honest, I am still pretty sick of it now.

So tonight begins the weekend. I am going to recharge, snuggle my baby and husband closer, work out at the gym tomorrow morning, and take a nice long breath.

...And, ya know, pray my baby's sphincter matures a little more and we get a little closer to beating this reflux thing.

Gobs and Gobs and Gobs of Snow.

Gobs and gobs of snow. It makes a girl warm in her heart, especially when it is the week of her first baby's first Christmas.

What is not so heartwarming is the fact that we are still stuck without a condo. My husband and I would give anything to be snuggled at home right now, our heat jacked up with a blanket over the pair of us, our little Gabriel snuggled into his own blanket in our arms, our Christmas tree twinkling with white lights and crimson decor, Mommy and Daddy chomping on pieces of freshly-made fudge and enjoying our snow-covered and enchanting woodland view.

But this is not yet possible, and so, in the meantime, we hope the snow stays just a few days more so that we may enjoy this scene, this winter wonderland moment with babe, in just a day or so more.

The condo should be painted today or tomorrow, allowing us to return tomorrow or Tuesday evening. Just in time to get our tree decorated in time. I still have many presents to wrap, and 1 or 2 to purchase!

Our little female cat, Sage, is returning home today from the Pet Hotel (my husband ventured out onto the awful roads to drop my sister off at work and get Sage home in my Mom's 4-wheel-drive-equipped vehicle). I am sure she will be happy to sit in our windows and chatter at squirrels again.

What's sweet about our current not-so-snuggly situation is that we are holed up with family, and that is certainly nice. If you are going to be snowed in for an evening(see the aftermath picture-- i.e. where is our bumper?-- at right), I sure don't mind playing Taboo with my 3 sisters and my parents.

And so, that is the way of the weekend... enjoying family, gazing outside, and longing for the moment the Christmas my husband and I dreamed of from the moment we knew were expecting truly begins.

Oh, and while I lament, we also would like for Gabe's behavior last night to never occur again. He screamed everytime he was put down in the pack and play, and would immediately stop crying when my husband picked him up. I nursed him when he seemed hungry and when it seemed just a little milk would make him drunk enough to sleep, but the longest he went down was one hour. On weekend nights (most Fridays and all Saturdays), my husband tends to Gabe's antics between feedings, and I felt awful knowing he was not getting any rest. And to be honest, what sound rest does a Mommy get while she is hearing her babe cry and her husband sigh anyway?

Mommy FAIL post coming very soon.

Alas. Alack. A period.

I got my period.

Seriously?

No, Seriously??


I am exclusively breastfeeding, and I started the mini pill last week... and BOOM- period here, cramps and all. At least the cramps are minor compared to what I had prior to pregnancy, and I hope that continues. I was worried at first that getting my period after a week on the pill would be problematic, but I then discovered that because the progesterone-only pill does not regulate my cycle at all. So I guess it is good I can go along as usual with the little pill. It's good I am not pregnant, right? Yeah... (in a severely sarcastic tone) because I was worried about that.

But, Seriously?

No, SERIOUSLY??? I thought I was going to miss my period for months upon months with breastfeeding. Yes, I know that does not always happen, but still, I am lamenting.

Alas. Alack. A period.