I'm irritated.

raise your hand if you're surprised.

yesterday's visit was wonderful. besides the fact that she's obviously a baby whisperer and speaks infant...the lactation consultant really (really) knew her stuff.

instant diagnosis. immediate action plan to remedy the situmination. detailed instruction and demonstration.

and, of course, I can't do it at home.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

I was so excited when I left there that besides calling everyone I know...I almost cried. hallelujah. amen. my problems, they are a-solved.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

the prof isn't cooperating, I'm still in tremendous amounts of pain (no one seemed to realize exactly how distraught I was/am over this), and I don't have enough arms to do it right.

so, not only am I still chained to the sofa by my aching boobs...I've now had a taste of what it can be like...and a minimal amount of hope in getting there again on my own.

I suck.

after coming down from my this-woman-is-amazing-and-I-CAN-do-this-high...I think I feel even worse than before. I want this to work. I want this to stop being excruciatingly painful.

I want a life.

I tried to rebound from my fuck-the-cruel-cruel-world-this-isn't-working crash by turning it into a little game. instead of dreading each feeding, I'm making little wagers with myself as to my odds of getting it right.

obviously, I can only accomplish difficult things when:

a. angry (check)
b. challenged (check)
c. full of chocolate and/or vodka (quasi-check. I need a refill on vodka)

did I mention fuck? fuck? fuck?

in other news (besides fucking...cause that most certainly aint going on):
the monkey has been spiking a 103 degree fever for the last 3 days. not cool. it responds to fever reducers, and she has no other symptoms, so we really have no single solitary clue what the fiznuck is going on. alas, we keep pumping her full o'drugs and hope her brain doesn't fry...

anymore than her 13 year old hormones have already fried, that is.

oqui's office christmas party was yesterday and with the monkey having such a ridiculous fever, I asked my grandmother to come keep an eye on her while we were gone. we fully intended to take the Prof with us (like I was gonna leave him behind?!?!?), but grandma pulled a compelling lil "you know...you can leave him here, too" on me, and we had our first night out sans child...accidentally.

I was nervous and ready to go home, then I had a(n admittedly watered down) vodka tonic or two and felt a little bit better.

for 20 minutes.

the food was good, the people weren't too terribly boring (old people are kinky), but my boobs hurt and I was ready to bounce before I finished my salad.

so I finished my salad...and we eventually went home.

no injuries. minimal crying (on both the part of the Prof and my grandma). the monkey's core temp didn't exceed critical measure and my business cash wardrobe from days of yore managed to almost fit.

I was fucking hot.

but my boobs hurt...

so we came home.

now, I'm home, and lo and behold...

my boobs still hurt.

fuck the tatas.