Shorts

My younger sister is due in approximately two weeks so whether I like it or not, I'm done pumping because it's her turn to have the family Medela (voided warranty say wha?). I was down to seven bags anyway so it's not like I was that far off from my original plan. Technically I stopped pumping last Friday when I skipped out early to hit the Cubs/Red Sox game with the family, so just not starting again on Monday seem pretty natural. Actually, I am quite looking forward to being done with it. While I enjoy the alone time in the mother's room and being able to dick around on the internet for 30 minutes a day, I also like being able to wear anything with less coverage than a turtleneck and not walking around all Mayor McPornboobs with breastmilk  drips on my pants. I am sure work appreciates that too.

He's smiling because I promised there would be nachos

Of course this doesn't mean Wren is done breastfeeding. Oh hell no. While I thought she didn't like drinking milk from a sippy, it turns out babyfriend doesn't really like drinking cow milk at all. Like, at all. But of course she still hate sippys too. Sippys are a juice-only affair apparently. Now that I am done pumping, she's got about a third of a canister of old-ass formula to go and then she is on her own. Of course Bruce keeps breaking down and giving her bottles just to get some dairy into her. I say feed her cheese and yogurt and stop fighting it altogether but I am not around enough to legislate these kind of decisions.

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Bruce volunteered me for a book club with the neighborhood ladies. The idea of spending an hour with complete strangers and no backup makes me want to barf. Undiagnosed social anxiety, I haz it. In the olden days, they'd call me shy. Since I need something to talk about, I figured I better read the book so I have been drilling through the chapters during my commute. When I read, I tend to zone out to the point of obliviousness. Today on the El, I went to mark my spot when I reached my stop and realized there had been an extremely pregnant lady (I was sure, outie bellybutton) standing directly in front of me for a good long while. Of course that made me feel like an asshole. Then I thought about all the people I would silently hate on for ignoring my past gravid states and then I felt like a an even bigger asshole because maybe they were truly oblivious too. Except that one guy, I know you saw me. No one cares that much about a Newsweek.

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I started running again. It's not so much that I think I am fat or need to lose weight but it is really. I can't afford a new wardrobe so I need to be able to fit into the clothes I already own. Also, after 13+ months this isn't so much baby weight as it is drinking beer and eating crap weight. It was time. Did you know there is such thing as an exercise headache? Also called an exertion headache. It's a migraine that you get on both sides or your head either immediately after or up to one day from doing any kind of hard physical activity. Actually there two kinds. No one really knows what causes the first, it just sort happens but it's not a serious health hazard. Just annoying. I like to think of it as the body's way of saying, "Maybe being a little tubby ain't so bad, ya know? Maybe put down that craft brew and we'll be ok, yah?" The second kind, well that they know about. Now THAT is the body saying, "Hey dumbass, you have a cranial bleed, Or maybe a tumor. You should probably get that looked at." So, uh, if I drop dead suddenly, I think we'll figure out which kind I've been getting.

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Wren's been a real bear lately. Last night I spent between the hours of one and three laying on her bedroom floor in a semi conscious state while she looked at every animal picture book on her shelves. While she wasn't busy crying her face off that is. It's a combo of separation anxiety and teething. She's been cutting all four canines over the last few weeks and the magic sleeping through the night that started shortly after she turned one is gone. It may also being punishment for my having the audacity to go to work everyday without her. Bruce says she's fine most days but whenever I come on the scene, Wren is back to needing constant cuddles before bed, waking every few hours and demanding to nurse whenever my boobs enter a two foot radius of her person. It's like having an infant again. Now with extra being kicked in the face!

Crabby toddler sleeps with flair!

All that being said, why do I spend so much time oogling every chunky bebeh I see? People are going to think I am some sort of crazed barren baby snatcher. Goddamn hormones.