Well, at least part of the answer to my question in the last entry has been given to me; when I tried to take my picture today, the camera refused to cooperate one lick by remaining powered on. No picture for me! The pictures of Sam are older ones, but still recent.
I don't know what to do. I talked to people at the camera shop, and they all seemed to agree that having a digital camera repaired would be more costly right now than just buying a new one. Translation: I can afford neither. Ugh! And what a time for this to happen!
Anyway, assuming (and that's a rather large assumption, but it's what I can do) that we can resurrect the camera, Eric is working on a potential solution for me with regards to both keeping pictures and automating the journal. We'll see what pans out in the end, I suppose.
Well, to everybody who sent us prayers, well-wishes, lit candles, and good thoughts over this house matter, I can't thank you enough. The house came through the inspection with flying colors! Of course, we were correct in our estimation that the roof's days are numbered, but we were expecting that, so it was no shock. On the other hand, our inspector's recommendations for other repairs appears to total up to about $500, and that's eminently doable for us.
We meet with the bank tonight to arrange the mortgage. I'm hoping Sam will be on his best behavior, since this meeting will likely be longer than the one for pre-approval, and he didn't enjoy that one at all. He's napping now, but he keeps waking every half hour and demanding to be nursed; I wonder if he's going through a growth spurt, or if he's just having bad dreams.
I'm now beginning to dread packing. It was easy to forget that particular step in the drama of house hunting and buying, but now it's looming large in my sights. I went out today and picked up some boxes and some extra tape and Sharpie pens, but I haven't been able to convince myself to start loading them yet. See, I have no idea where I'm going to put the boxes once they're loaded; we're short on living space as it is (hence the need for the new house in the first place), and piles of boxes will make me crazy if we don't get to move for another few weeks.
If only I could just start taking stuff over now and putting it into the basement. I mean, the house is technically off the market now...
Yeah, I know. Patience.
Speaking of Sam's nursing, I have no idea what's going on there. When we're out and about, he can go pretty much the whole day without it; when my parents were in town last weekend, he didn't ask for "nur-nur" until he was on the brink of starvation (he doesn't like to stop for any other foods, either).
When we're home, though, it's a different story. I can't sit at the computer without him cramming himself onto my lap and imploring me with words and gestures. That by itself wouldn't be such a task, but he comes back every fifteen minutes until I can get up and play with him.
Yes, it's obvious; he wants attention, and he'll take it any way he can get it. If I wasn't nursing him, he'd be finding some other way to pull at me when I tried to do something that didn't involve him. Understanding that doesn't make it any less tiresome.
Don't get me wrong; I love nursing Sam. I love our connection, the crinkle-eyed giggles he gives me from behind my breast, the way he rubs my arms while we cuddle. I love the fact that when he falls and hurts himself, I can give him almost immediate comfort in a way that's special to both of us. I especially love that my picky little eater is guaranteed to get at least a few perfect meals each day, even if he decides to eat nothing else but corn. And now that he's mostly night-weaned (all on his own, I might add), I love nursing him to sleep at night, feeling his little body cling to me and then grow limp and relaxed.
But there are times when a mama needs her email, darn it! (I'm only half kidding, here.)
As he approaches his second birthday, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'll soon be nursing a much bigger kid than I ever imagined when I was young. I can actually remember telling Eric, before we thought about having kids, that "old enough to ask for it is old enough to be weaned." My, how time changes our feelings! The biggest truth I was told on the matter, and one I continue to tell those young and future mamas who get squeamish at the thought of nursing a toddler is that one never starts out with a big kid. First you're nursing a newborn, and then a baby. By the time he's big, the time has flown by so quickly (where does it go?) that you've grown accustomed to his size. Only when you look at and hold another newborn do you realize just how large your baby is - and that, just maybe, he's not really a baby anymore.
But he'll always be your baby, to you.
When he decides to wean, I'm sure I'll be heartbroken. He'll be severing that part of him that was my infant, and it will hurt. At the same time, it will be a culmination, not an isolated event. He's growing up, and he's been "weaning" since he took his first bite of solid food (applesauce, if memory serves). I've had time to get used to the idea, just as he might be getting used to the idea himself.
I don't know when it will happen for good, but I'm preparing myself. It's thoughts like this that make the frustrating nurse-athons a bit more bearable.
Do any of you ever get odd heart palpitations for seemingly no reason whatsoever? I've been having one for the past half hour - my heart is pounding its way out of my chest and making it hard to breathe - and it's driving me nuts. I've had them since I was a teenager, but this is the first one I've had in ages. At least it appears to be stopping now.
one year ago:
While we sat peacefully in the theater, Sam was huddling on Betsy's lap, surrounded by her family, packed into her small "twister closet."
two years ago:
I've tried talking to the baby, trying to convince it that I could be a much better mommy with my arms, face, and breasts than with simply my uterus, but I don't think we're buying any of it.
three years ago:
Little red-haired girls tend to attract Raggedy Ann dolls and decor like honey attracts flies, after all.
On the Stereo:|
On the Bookshelf: