weaning work

Well, I’m done now—done with the pumping, pump washing, pump sterilizing, bottle storing, milk freezing. We’re on to formula, plus bits of food she tries to stick in her mouth with the flat of her palm. When I googled (in many different word combos) the hormonal effects of weaning, all I got was results for the effects on the baby. But—hello?—what about the mother? Frances is fine, let me tell you. Since she is the one that initiated this thing, I don’t have to worry too much about the emotional repercussions of taking my boob from her. But the emotional rollercoaster that it has set off in me is not pleasant. Crying, general grumpiness, depression that makes me wish I had the freedom to lie all day on the couch looking at the television set. Needless to day, I don’t, and I suppose hanging out with the girl probably helps the blues overall. So does my morning walk, it turns out, which I didn’t take this morning and which I regretted not much later but could do nothing about since it was 98 degrees by noon. I feared I would die if I tried it then. Tomorrow is always another day, albeit a hot one.