Little Miss Joanie May is three weeks old today. I am so, so, so, so tired that a photo and a short post is all I can muster this afternoon. Jackson started camp today (he’ll go twice a week for the next three weeks, and then six weeks from tomorrow he starts PUBLIC SCHOOL, OH MY GOD, I’M SO EXCITED), which is wonderful because, between dropping him off and picking him up, I have a little over five hours alone with Joanie. And since she sleeps a big chunk of the day, I had some grand plans for tackling my to-do list during that time, including lining up content for the next couple of days, but, after pumping twice (I get a lot more milk out by pumping than nursing, but I do both), bottle-feeding Joanie twice, getting dinner started in the slow-cooker, doing a load of laundry, making a batch of granola bars (oatmeal’s good for breastmilk production they say; also, granola bars = delicious), and changing about four dirty diapers, all I want to do now is nap (I’ve been averaging about four hours of sleep a night, which is torture).
I will say that I’ve been a little nervous about the three-week mark. Typically, that’s when the “baby blues” hit the hardest, and after Jackson’s birth that was certainly the case. I have such a vivid memory of when Jackson was three weeks old and he already had a cold and his weight plummeted to 4 1/2 pounds because he was too sick to eat and Drew had just gone back to work and my hormones were a mess and I was so insanely exhausted, and I stumbled into a nearby coffee shop in search for salvation, but Jackson wouldn’t stop screaming and everyone in the shop glared at me until I slowly backed out the door without buying anything. I remember walking down the block aimlessly, tears spilling down my face as Jackson cried and cried and I had no idea how to calm him down. Things are much better this time around, thank God. My hormones don’t seem nearly as wonky (thanks, in part, to having my thyroid condition properly controlled) and, when Joanie has crying jags, which have started in abundance over the last few days after we began thinking we might have produced the world’s most mellow baby ever (alas, no, she’s a true Condellberry, it turns out), I don’t freak out like I might have when Jackson was this age. Also, I do not ever, ever, under any circumstances, leave a coffee shop without securing a caffeine fix. I mean, really.
Now, good-night. I have exactly 40 minutes before I have to pump again, and I’m going to pass out and hope Joanie let’s me get some Zzzzz’s.