so…tell me honestly. do you think Oscar’s too young to send away to summer camp for a couple of weeks? :)

it’s been a bit of a nightmare weekend. for three days, the boy has been crying whenever he’s awake, which is approximately every hour or two around the clock. he appears to be on a bit of a nursing strike and a growth spurt at the same time, so he latches on, pulls off, screams, latches on again…and around we go. hurts like hell, and apparently doesn’t make him very happy, either. we’ve resorted to using more supplementary bottles as a result, which is likely exacerbating the problem: i suspect he’s gotten spoilt by the easy flow of the bottle nipple and not want to work for his dinner anymore. fair enough, son. but i fear our days of nursing may not be long for this world…and that makes me sad.

not quite sad enough to spend the next seventy hours withholding bottles and trying to train him back on the breast properly, admittedly, as poor little O seems to think he’s starving each time the flow slows down, but sad. i am grieving my own hopes for Oscar’s babyhood – those best-laid plans that had no place in them for colic and allergies. ah, sweet baby O, this whole ride has not quite been what i had in mind. i’m trying to forgive myself that…and resign myself to the road we’re on. i’m getting there, but i don’t like it much. bah. humbug.

mama is tired – actually, beyond tired. mama is bone weary. and cranky. and hot, dammit…here we are having this fabulous stretch of summertime weather in a part of the world not always known for balmy temperatures, and all i want to do is crawl into bed and stay there for about a week, sunshine or no sunshine.

i should have stayed in bed – or at least in the house – this evening: drove my mum home, and managed to back into a car. a parked car…that Lincoln just popped out of nowhere, i swear, officer! or rather, it was just minding its own stationary business…and there was the hind end of my Kia, butting into its bumper. completely my fault. and there went eighteen years (god, i’m that old?) of a perfect driving record. sigh. kinda sums up how i feel about the whole weekend.

i did leave them my number. and felt vaguely virtuous for doing so. i wonder if any of that smug pleasantness will be left over by the time the bill comes in?

when i feel cheerful enough, i remember to tell myself “this too shall pass.” if anyone knows when, they’re invited to please let me know, and to hurry it up, if they can. before i seriously consider sussing out that infant summer camp, or sending myself off to one.

i do love campfire songs…