In a fit of desperation, I started taking iron pills at night, figuring that Genny doesn't wake up at night and that while she might get her typical tummy cramps after her morning nursing, that I would have the benefit of not feeling like I danced naked in front of a moving mack truck, and that then that mack truck kept running over me and then backing back over me back and forth like that for a few hours and that I was some kind of cartoon character that could survive that and survive the intense pain. In my case, all the pain is in my feet.

The first day, after the pills, Genny whined, brought her legs to her chest, and farted pitifully. Mike reminded me that I can't care for her, if I am not taking care of myself, so we just cuddled her and I let her comfort nurse a lot. The next day, she still whined, but not as much. After about 5 days now, she's not whining at all and I'm starting to feel a tad better than roadkill.

I don't suppose the roadkill feeling was improved by scouring the house clean for Mike's grandparents. They got lost the last time they took his brother, Kev, to San Francisco to school when they were trying to get home, so we told them they could bring him to us and we'd take him. We had offered to go up there and get him, but they wanted to see the baby, so they drove here.

The house was immaculate. Mike asked me how I liked our immaculately clean house last night. I told him I loved it and when I asked him how he liked it, he said,"It's nice." All I could think is NICE? Our house was so clean, we could lick ice cream off the carpets and not have gotten any unwanted lint. I think the tone of voice might have been the key here, all in all...it was the,"it's nice and I love it, too, but I don't want to have to make or keep it like this again soon" voice.

Sigh.

The cool thing is that the counters are clear. I got the baby's room organized. I've gotten so much done!

That little iron pill is pretty spiffy. I want MORE!

Okay, that was something I was supposed to post from two days ago and I just didn't get there.

This week has just whirled by like a freakin' tornado. Monday night, it occurs to me that I haven't finished shopping for Bear, so I call Target in Woodland to see if they have the coveted X-men gameboy game, figuring I'd spend extra money to get the pokemon cards to avoid the long trip to Sacramento. While the cards are $2/pack cheaper in Sacramento, it was going to be twice as long for me to get there and back as it was for me to go to Woodland and I was willing to spend money to get more sleep.

I went shopping for me, too, because they had some really awesome silk skirts for around $10 apiece and frankly, if it wasn't for maternity clothes, I'd be naked. I kept a few things out of the maternity clothes trunk and I have shorts, but with fall coming, the Fashion Barometer is shifting. That and I feel so freakin' unprofessional without "work" clothes. I like my nursing dresses and tops, but with all those tops, I needed some bottoms that weren't so reminscent of having a baby belly out to here. I was certainly due for a big fat hefty ticket from the fashion police if I didn't do something.

EEEEeeeeee! (the shriek of sirens in the background and red/blue lights flashing) "Ms. Schreiber?"
"Yes?"
"Ms. Schreiber, may I see your license to wear that?"
"My WHAT?!"
"Ms. Schreiber, may I please see your license? That's an atrocious outfit that doesn't fit and looks like....OHMYGOD!...she's...*gasp*....wearing....Oh, the horror...she's...wearing...*sob*...maternity clothes!"
I look at the fashion cop in stunned amazement, as s/he writes me this big enormous ticket for being horribly dressed. I try to plead my case that I've got a new baby, I'm anemic and working and what the hell is this any how, but it's to no avail.

In abject shame, I take my husband's credit card and go melt me some plastic.

Yup, that's my fantasy and I'm sticking to it.

Well, the reality is that after being up late shopping on Monday night, last night, I stayed up til 1230AM wrapping birthday presents, after spending the entire afternoon at the fair with the family as Russell's birthday shindig. Today, I leave work early to pick Bear up from his first day of school and head out to a supermarket to get an oreo cake. If I can't find one pre-made, I'm going to have to break down and bake one.

Please send all good oreo vibes and creme filling this way or to my local supermarket or something.

My fantasy for tonight is to sleep, maybe even manage to read and respond to all of my email, and to not cry bitterly about my darling 7 year old boy growing up so damned fast.