Wednesday, August 23, 2006

The Hunger Chronicles

This is how you know you're a newly postpartum nursing mom.

You go to your new baby's one-week doctor visit at noon, which is a five-minute drive away, and by the time you get there, despite having had breakfast and a snack beforehand, the (slow) walk from the parking lot and all the way through the building to the far office leaves you so ravenous and lightheaded that the pediatric nurse, who is there to worry about the baby and not you, sits you down and worriedly asks how you've been doing since the birth and what your hemoglobin was upon discharge. She tells you if you continue to be this shaky and pale you need to get in to see your OB before next week. You tell her you're just hungry. After the visit your husband has to bring the car around for you, and then you make him hit the Wendy's drive-through because you can't wait five more minutes to get home and make lunch. You end up inhaling a gigantic grilled chicken sandwich in the car, honey mustard sauce running down your arm--and you are someone who can't even remember the last time she ate at a fast-food restaurant. You get home, finish your sandwich, slurp down a Frosty, nurse the baby, and in the middle of the night you wake up with your stomach growling, dreaming of omelettes and veggie hot-dogs and corn on the cob and Dairy Queen.

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