Day three home from the hospital, day four since delivery. This, I think, is about the right timing. Well, I wouldn't call it "right" per se; I feel miserable. But the timing is appropriate for Baby Blues to set in. So instead of wallowing for days on end, I'm going to try to vent now and hopefully this will allow me to logic my way through the rest of it.
I've been living in a state of perpetual engorgement since Sunday evening, and had just begun to think that I had trained my breasts to scale back on production when I got a phone call from I.F. saying that he and Princess Wiggle-Worm were heading home. Now, this is wonderful news! Except, it turns out he wasn't going to come down after all to pick up the breast milk I've been expressing for him since I left the hospital. Yes, yes, I've agreed to freeze it in case he can come back and get it, but it might have been nice to have been given a little bit of notice, so I could scale back on expressing more than I had been. Since Sunday, I have made Dolly Parton look absolutely prepubescent. Now I'm bound up so tight my ten year old is proportionally larger-chested than I am. This. Is. Painful.
And no one has come to visit or called. Which bums me out, but I can't expect people to drop everything, either. They have lives of their own.
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