I have a giant to-do list, but instead of tackling it, I'm blogging.
This irrationality is driving me crazy, RIGHT NOW.
And yet, I can't stop.
It's like eating Pringles. Just. Can't. Stop. Eating.
I have so much to say and nothing at all. Nothing of any consequence what so ever.
What's with our social drive to share about our lives? Some strong "stuff" there.
So, instead of fighting it anymore. I'm going to scratch that itch. And then call my dental insurance, and then pay my property tax, and then renew my home insurance, and then [insert myriad other boring things that make me want to stick a fork in my eye].
So...things that are going on...
Today is the 3rd day in a row that Noah has refused to nurse. I feel deeply ambivalent. He LOVED nursing and it was his sole source of comfort in this whole entire world. He never took a bottle, never had a pacifier, never had a lovie toy, none of it. When he was scared or tired or sad, he went right for the boob.
For months now I've been longing to wean him, but because he's my last baby, I kept holding out. I set a limit date - his 2nd birthday, after which, the boob shop will be closed. Forever.
I was already planning to celebrate by wearing a turtleneck. I fantasized about what color turtleneck I could wear. I haven't worn one for 4+ years, ever since Judah was born. It was going to feel oh so cozy and modest. And then I was going to stop by the Gap and by a few crew-neck t-shirts.
But a few days ago, Noah told me his "teeth" were "sick" and he refused to nurse. He's also been drooling a ridiculous amount. Either he has mouth sores or he's teething badly. He won't open his mouth enough for me to inspect it. But he does tell me "Noah teeth sick" and "call doctor" and "get medicine."
And then 3 days of non-nursing went by. And today I feel sad. I think this is the end.
The end of an era.
Why do I feel so sad closing up shop now when I was already going to do it anyway in 3 months?
I might as well put on a turtleneck now.
I just didn't realize the color I'd choose is black.
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