I want to write the birthstory of our Iris, but I'm afraid I'm so rusty at writing right now, I might have to practice.
So this is a practice.
I am a little over three weeks postpartum. This birth brought with it a hellish recovery. I've had a double breast infection which turned into a yeast infection (of the chest) which turned into a flu which turned into me turning into a zombie. I've cried so many tears my friends, I've cried so many tears and actually tried all the medication and all the remedies. PLEASE DON'T TELL ME YOUR REMEDY because I've tried it. THAT INCLUDES YOU, OIL PEOPLE.
But I am better today. I no longer have the desire to stab someone with a sharp object when my baby latches on. Also, I DON'T HAVE A BAD LATCH, BREAST FEEDING PEOPLE. I had two nurses OK my latch. So get off my latch ok?
If you can't tell I'm a little ornery too. Not for lack of sleep. My sister Page took my kids for a few days so I could sleep. Then CK took my kids to Idaho this weekend so I could get even more sleep. I'd say sleep and a nice breast pump (that CK bought from a woman in a parking lot in American Fork!) saved me from giving up on breast feeding all together.
But yes I do feel a little fragile. I keep telling myself I am fine. I AM FINE. Because whenever I feel fragile I usually tell myself it's because I need to be more righteous, but listen, what is more righteous than giving birth AND THEN SUFFERING FOR IT?!
Oh this practice is not going well.
I'll try again tomorrow.
(Thanks for listening!)
(Yes, I tried cabbage. THANKS AGAIN!)