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Will will be four months old on Friday. It's amazing. That four months has both passed in a blink of an eye and taken a lifetime to get through. Quite literally, I suppose--my son's lifetime. And my new life as well.
I'm sitting at the computer in an office that still needs some serious unpacking, looking at a couch that is covered with clothes that belong in our closet. I'd have put them there before now, but we didn't quite have a closet until today. Things are progressing in baby steps, and I am doing my best to be immune to the piles and the clutter that surround me here. Most of the time I succeed.
I took my first bath in the "new" tub tonight. Blissful. It's the first time I've felt right all day. PMS will do that to you, I suppose. Damn monthly cycle. I don't understand why I couldn't be one of those women who don't get their periods until they stop breastfeeding. Nope. Not me. Returned like clockwork when Will was 8 weeks old. Grr. Arrgh.
Things around here are settling into some kind of normal. The Husband and I are learning how to be something to eachother other than "the other parent," though it hasn't been easy. My mom stayed with the baby and sent us out on a date the other night. We went to one of those Japanese places where they cook on your table and stuffed ourselves. Yummy. Afterwards, we went to the pet store and visited the less fortunate guinea pigs (the ones that don't live in the guinea pig palace in our dining room), and then got ice cream and walked for a bit, eating our cones and holding hands. It was really nice, and really necessary.
We've tried, with some measure of success, to re-enter the world of the sexually active couples since the doctor gave me the go-ahead. She'd told me that we should use condoms until I stopped breastfeeding. The Husband, ever the optomist, came home later that night with the Economy 36-pack. It's an interesting way to keep track of how successful we've been at re-entering this particular world, keeping count of how many remain in the box. Right now, for those of you keeping score, that would be 32.
The baby seems to do his best to keep that count up there. The other day, the Husband was working on the aforementioned closet while I was downstairs, feeding His Nibs. He fell asleep, and I came upstairs to check on the closet progress. The Husband looked at me and smiled. "Is the baby asleep?" I nodded. He climbed off his ladder and kissed me.
Two minutes later, I was on the bed, naked, with the Husband doing his best to distract me from the fact that my breasts do, in fact, leak when something turns me on. I'd heard about this phenomenon, but this was the first chance I'd had to experience it first-hand. Distracting me wasn't easy, but he was doing a remarkably good job. A reeeeeally good job. A very close to perfect job. So close. So, so close...
And then the crying started. No, not me. The baby. And the acoustics of the house carried the cries up the stairs remarkably well.
It's amazing how un-sexy a baby crying can be. It's also amazing how much THAT can make your breasts leak.
Thankfully, he goes to bed pretty early. Early enough that, if the Husband follows me to bed instead of playing Grand Theft Auto, we can still have a little alone time.
I have to say, though, that the nursing bra stays on from now on. That's just weird.
And on that note, it's time for me to head back to bed. Tomorrow is still a work day for me.
Pleasant dreams, all...
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