In between the dark and the light

My depression is better. Not cured, not totally better, but better. I have energy again and aren't endlessly annoyed by absolutely nothing. My sense of humor is back, and I'm loving me some music again. There are still days I don't feel like myself, but then I remember: I'm NOT myself anymore. I am a mom, and my life is different. Not that it's bad, or sad, or I don't like it. In many ways, my life is as good as it's ever been. It's just not the life I had prior to January 6.

And the Boo...I can't believe him. He's crawling and pulling up and babbling up a storm. And I can't fill the kiddo up. He wants to eat all the time. On Tuesday, I picked him up from daycare and he was a little cranky but nothing major. When I got out on the highway, all hell broke loose. My son decided he was starving. As in, feed me now before I kill you. As in, screaming so loud and hard that he was getting the dry heaves. Here I am, driving 60 miles an hour on Route 2, and if I pull over to comfort him, I'm just going to keep him from his food all the longer. It was awful. My nerves were shredded by the time I got home.

So we finally get home, and M tries to feed him. Except he wants me. Only me. He chugs an 8-ounce bottle in about 10 minutes and passes out. I get a bit more milk into him a little later and he goes to bed for the night. But not for long...

See, all he had for solid food was some sweet potatoes at daycare. That isn't enough food for him. So he woke up at midnight howling again. He drank four ounces and passed out, and then he was up again at 3 (took 6 ounces) and then at 6. It was the night of the living dead in our house. Let's just say there was a lot of caffeine consumed the next day.

So yesterday, my son had 30 ounces of milk, two bowls of oatmeal, and an almost 3-ounce container of sweet potatoes and corn. And in a related story, he slept until 4 a.m. Coincidence? I think not. I think I need to buy a bigger refrigerator for his teenage years.