Wednesday, May 26, 2004

 
he's not weaned. he's NOT. he's just having a little rice pap for lunch, some at dinner and a tbsp of vegies (right now he's staring up at me wondering what that cool tapping noise is).

but my body, ignoring my state of nervous exhaustion and 5-6 breastfeeds a day, thinks I'm ready to have another baby. only seven weeks after his first mouthful of solids, I have my blinkin' period. I don't need the mess. I don't need the cramps. and I certainly don't need pmt on top of my edgy, nasty mood.

this is sacrilege, (sp?) of course, but right now I'm sort of not unhappy that because I'm a) infertile and b) not having sex more than once a month, at least I'm not likely to be pregnant into the bargain. yes I know women used to be constantly pregnant and feeding and dealing with babies. that is why many babies died and why women used to not be able to read/vote/drink even soy decaf lattes. or go to matinees.

this post is more incoherent than usual, no? yes!

and the grrrl? in form, while all about her lose their heads. she's a man, my son.

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