It's official: I am a milk machine. And that's it. A human milk production facility.

Oh, and Benjamin won't sleep. Not on his own, in his own space, for any length of time that would allow me to sleep, anyway. But boy, haul him out to the van, strap him in his car seat, lug him out of his car seat, put him in his stroller and take him to a middle school football game complete with yelling and screaming and he sleeps. . .well, like a baby.

Meanwhile, I've been reduced to a milk-producing, sleep-deprived, hormonal zombie.

But at least tonight I'm not a crying milk-producing, sleep-deprived, hormonal zombie. Not yet anyway. The night, though, is young. But I'm trying hard to maintain. Donald helps me. He is such a wonderful husband. If not for him then I seriously think I'd have to give consideration to checking into Dorothea Dix, or the equivalent thereof.

I don't understand, either. I wasn't like this with Lizzie. Perhaps I was a bit with William. . .I do recall going to the pediatrician's office one day with my breasts bound in an Ace bandage because I just couldn't take it anymore. Fortunately they were able to talk me down and I resumed breast feeding. But I was 18 then. It was understandable that I should have a hard time coping. I'm not 18 anymore. I've done this twice already. I made my living taking care of not one baby but five of them at a time in child care nurseries. So what in the hell is going on here? Why am I struggling so much?

I don't get it.

And I feel so guilty.

I've contemplated bottle feeding.

I know! How awful!

He needs breastmilk. And I have breastmilk.

If only he'd SLEEP.

I nurse him. He sleeps. I lie him down. He sleeps for ten minutes at a time. Then he wiggles. Startles. Cries. I nurse him. It's a vicious circle.

Currently he's in his swing. Moaning. Working up to a cry.

I just nursed him an hour ago.

I guess I'll nurse him again.

I'm serious about the bottle thing.

But I'd feel so damned guilty. . .


P.S. His bilirubin level went down even farther today, from 13.8 the day before yesterday to 13.2 today. And he pooped today. He hadn't pooped in over 24 hours and I was getting a little wigged out. But he pooped today, so I'm happy. (Bet there aren't many occasions in life where one gets to write such a sentence. Thank FSM.)