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Updating the world
Jun. 27th, 2011 09:06 pmWell, Kidlet is asleep, and I'm not all that interested in dinking about on websites, and I'm stuck at the computer for a while (hands-free pumping: ten thousand times better than holding two bottles to your breasts for 15 minutes!), so I should probably actually write an update.
I am totally not getting enough sleep. People ask me how I'm doing, and I say, "Tired," and they laugh, because they know it's true. But it is true, and more so than I ever believed. I'm running on four to six hours a night. Six would be great, if it were in one block. But it's not; I get three to four hours between 10 and 3, and then it's catch as catch can from that point on. Between pumping, cleaning, and trying to actually fall back asleep before the sun gets so high I can't do it at all, I get one to three more hours. Today was very bad; I probably got 4.5 - 5.5 hours, and I didn't pull out of foggy-headedness until two or so. I'll probably go to bed after this pumping go-round.
Still, Kidlet has learned to smile, and she pulls it out when she sees me looking at her over the crib rails, or on the changing table. I swear to G-d, it's why I don't kill her. She has learned fussiness, and pulled it out at four-thirty or so this morning. Not. Pleasant. But then when I stumbled to her side at 7:40 this morning (after getting her down at 6:40), she smiled up at me, and all of the "Go the F*ck to Sleep" in my heart melted. (To be replaced later that morning when she proceeded to scream in my ear, but that's another story altogether.)
I love romance novels. They are about the speed I can cope with right now, which tells you something about me and something about romance novels. I just finished Mary Jo Putney's One Perfect Rose, which was surprisingly good. Entirely predictable, but the hero's journey and the characterizations of the cast were really quite nice.
I want my books to be happy, right now. Re-reading Jim Butcher's Changes nearly broke my heart. Poor Maggie. Hexk, reading about the heroine's early life in One Perfect Rose also nearly made me cry, and the flashback to the death of the Penderwick children's mother in The Penderwicks of Gardam Street did make me cry.
Pumping time is over, so it's bedtime-ish for me. Good-night!
I am totally not getting enough sleep. People ask me how I'm doing, and I say, "Tired," and they laugh, because they know it's true. But it is true, and more so than I ever believed. I'm running on four to six hours a night. Six would be great, if it were in one block. But it's not; I get three to four hours between 10 and 3, and then it's catch as catch can from that point on. Between pumping, cleaning, and trying to actually fall back asleep before the sun gets so high I can't do it at all, I get one to three more hours. Today was very bad; I probably got 4.5 - 5.5 hours, and I didn't pull out of foggy-headedness until two or so. I'll probably go to bed after this pumping go-round.
Still, Kidlet has learned to smile, and she pulls it out when she sees me looking at her over the crib rails, or on the changing table. I swear to G-d, it's why I don't kill her. She has learned fussiness, and pulled it out at four-thirty or so this morning. Not. Pleasant. But then when I stumbled to her side at 7:40 this morning (after getting her down at 6:40), she smiled up at me, and all of the "Go the F*ck to Sleep" in my heart melted. (To be replaced later that morning when she proceeded to scream in my ear, but that's another story altogether.)
I love romance novels. They are about the speed I can cope with right now, which tells you something about me and something about romance novels. I just finished Mary Jo Putney's One Perfect Rose, which was surprisingly good. Entirely predictable, but the hero's journey and the characterizations of the cast were really quite nice.
I want my books to be happy, right now. Re-reading Jim Butcher's Changes nearly broke my heart. Poor Maggie. Hexk, reading about the heroine's early life in One Perfect Rose also nearly made me cry, and the flashback to the death of the Penderwick children's mother in The Penderwicks of Gardam Street did make me cry.
Pumping time is over, so it's bedtime-ish for me. Good-night!
