I hate my body today. I had my stupid non-functioning ovaries. I hate that something as important to me as breastfeeding is stopping me from getting something that I dearly want.
You’ve probably guessed by now that my temperature has not done what I was so hoping it would do. It has risen, but only very slightly, and it’s still a lot lower than it was a week ago when I was wondering if that had meant I’d ovulated.
I wanted to hurl the thermometer out of the window this morning. I’ve been wanting another baby for 13 months now and damn it, it is hard. It’s hard on the heart and the brain and on the bank balance.
I’m off to try and make a Lego Pinata for my son’s birthday party on Sunday, and try not to sob all over my glue gun.
943 days since my last period…. and counting….
Yesterday was day one of, well not weaning exactly, but significantly reducing the amount of time my youngest spends nursing. I was quite intimidated at the prospect, and from the way the morning went, rightly so.
She had ended up in the bed with us the night before so there were several nursing sessions throughout the night, big long protracted ones where she used me as a human dummy.
We got up at 6.30 yesterday morning so I decided her last nursing session would be the only one that morning and I wasn’t at home to any more before 12 o’clock. She was not happy about this arrangement. There was a lot of bribery, tears and tantrums (not all by her). Finally my best friend rescued us by arriving in her car to take us all out to a soft play centre as we hoped this would distract the baby from her demands for “enuff!”
And it worked. It was 12.30 before she climbed onto my lap again and took a decent 10 minute feed. I then managed to stretch it to 4 o’clock before the next one and then finally she had one more before bed.
Day 2 now and I’m hoping to repeat the pattern, and hoping that it’s enough to make a difference.