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Another puke-fest after dinner. Not good.

But I found a red swimsuit! A tankini-deal that Tim thinks is pretty slinky.

So, that’s one good thing.

So I’m supposed to go swimsuit shopping tonight, which is frightening enough as it is, but of course Auggie just took the liberty of throwing up all over himself about an hour ago. I’m very proud of myself, though. I remained calm, I took him into the laundry room and stripped him down, threw his shoes and shoelaces in the washing machine and took him up for a bath.

I’m hoping that this was just an isolated incident, but his general malaise, lack of appetite and 100.4 degree temp have me more than a little worried.

Hey, if I can be vomited on repeatedly and still keep it together, surely I can hold up while looking at myself practically naked in swimsuits under unflattering department store fitting room lights, right?

I’ve been having nightmares lately. This is pretty unusual for me. I remember a lot of what I dream, but it’s never usually anything too scary or creepy. A little odd, perhaps, but nothing like lately.

On Sunday, I had this totally weird dream about our fish, Fishy (of course). Tim and I were cleaning out his tank, and Tim left the top off, so Fishy jumped out and landed on the floor. Tim was brushing his teeth, and, against my protestations, used the toothbrush to pick Fishy up and put him back in the tank. (Wonder what Seinfeld would have to say about that.) Well, Fishy didn’t look so good after all of the excitement, and he was floating around all sideways, so I put in some fish food. When he started eating the food, he started growing, until he was too big for the tank. And he had teeth! And I remember saying in my dream, ‘This is so trippy.’

Odd.

I’ve also been having nightmares about my upcoming high school reunion. There’s a running joke in my lifestyle program group that Classmates.com has a partnership with the company, just scaring the bejesus out of people by sending them e-mails about their high school reunions and thereby sending the people shrieking to their nearest weight-loss center.

In each of the nightmares, all of my high school classmates and I (some that I haven’t even thought about in 10 years) are stuck in some kind of weird situation that we can’t get out of. During the first dream, we were all on a bus together and everyone was mad at me for being late. Or was it the dream about the Paris train station? I think I mentioned that a while ago. Well, last night, I dreamt that we all had to produce a talent show, starring all of us. Oh, and it was directed by Peter Jackson. And there was some kind of kid with a developmental disability being cheered on by everyone. It’s all very confusing right now. And there were several of us to a bed, for some reason (although no hanky-panky was taking place, thank you very much).

Anyway, I think I have a little angst over my high school classmates’ expectations of me. Ya think?

But, and it’s amazing how life sometimes throws you a bone like this, this morning one of the LLL Leaders that I met last week called me out of the blue about another meeting. I had to decline to go to the meeting because it conflicted with my lifestyle program meeting, which led us to start talking about weight loss in general because she is a dietitian. I mentioned how I was having these odd feelings of detachment about losing 30 pounds — how it just doesn’t seem real to me at all. In fact, sometimes I feel like if I woke up tomorrow and I was 30 pounds heavier again, I wouldn’t be surprised at all. And then I mentioned that I really wanted to be close to my goal weight by my high school reunion. She cautioned me against setting a deadline, because that might prompt me to just go back to the way I was, once it was past. Good point. Plus, and this is the point of this long-winded story right here, life had also happened to them over the past ten years.

Hey, yeah. God, I love people.

Kansas wins. 76-70.

This weekend, the weather was so beautiful. Saturday, Auggie and I played at Turtle Park while Tim helped our friend Chris with some plumbing issues (and saving Chris $1200 in the process). Sunday, we went for a 15-mile bike ride along the riverfront. It was practically April. Then, Mother Nature, the mercurial temptress that she is, pulled the rug out from under our feet this afternoon and the temperature went from 64 to 44 degrees in a matter of hours.

Sigh.

With all the shuttle tragedy-ness, I missed what the groundhog did yesterday. Kinda puts that whole groundhog thing in perspective, though, doesn’t it? Who cares if it’s cold or hot — at least I’m alive, right?

I still want it to be spring.

Now, we’re listening to the end of the Missouri-Kansas game via the Internet (no, we don’t have ESPN). Two minutes left, and Missouri’s in trouble. But this is how it goes every season. We lose in Kansas, then win in Missouri. It never fails. One thing I will not listen to is the blasted “Rock. Chalk. Jayhawk.” chant. It’s just creepy. It’s like line-dancing, but more sinister, you know?

Probably not.

Missouri is within 2 with a minute, 7 to go!

Anyway, I must go and bite my fingernails off now.

Go Tigers!

I am 30 pounds lighter than I was four months ago today.

does little dance of glee

Today, my mother-in-law was born 66 years ago.

I am very happy that she is here.

For one thing, if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t have my amazing husband, and therefore my equally-amazing son. But, I also wouldn’t have a really nice friend. Who also babysits my (amazingly) cranky son for free.

Happy birthday, Libby.

One of my favorite words in the English language is “galactagogue.” It refers, of course, to a drug that promotes lactation. Duh.

I’ve even taken a few galactagogues in my day, thanks to Auggie’s weak suck when he was born. (Just to bring you up to speed on the story: Having never breastfed before, I didn’t realize there was anything wrong until Auggie’s two-week doctor’s appointment. By then, my supply had fallen dangerously low.)

You see, one of the many amazing things about breastfeeding is that the whole thing is based upon supply and demand. If the baby eats more often, your body responds my making more milk. If he slows down his feeding (because you’ve started solids or gone back to work, etc.), you make less. Now, there are exceptions to every rule, of course, and I’m thinking of those poor moms that make enough milk for two or even three babies, no matter how much their babies eat. More rare, however, is the mom who cannot make enough for her baby.

Lots of moms think that they’re not making enough, for lots of erroneous reasons. It truly is a rare thing when a woman doesn’t have an adequate milk supply, if the baby is nursing well.

Anyway, I’m bringing up galactagogues because I just heard at my La Leche League Coordinating Council meeting that there is a local pharmacy that sells domperidone, the drug that I took to help reestablish my milk supply.

Since domperidone is not approved in the US, I ordered it on the Internet, after reading about it on a great breastfeeding site. I even contacted Dr. Jack Newman, a breastfeeding expert in Canada, because he has studied domperidone extensively.

This still didn’t help relieve my feelings that I was doing something illicit. I mean, was I really going to take a drug that came all the way from Australia? I’m sure the Australian version of the FDA does a great job and all, but why wasn’t domperidone available in the States?

So I broke down and took it anyway, since I had been working to build my supply up for six weeks and still couldn’t get past that one last bottle of formula a day. Every time I felt like I was caught up, Auggie would hit a growth spurt and we’d be back to square one.

I took it one afternoon, and that evening, and the next morning I woke up with plenty of milk for Auggie. He never took another drop of formula.

I eventually found out that the reason that domperidone isn’t approved in the US is because the manufacturer has never sought approval here. (It’s approved in Canada and Mexico.) You see, it’s main use is for people with reflux. The US has a ton of drugs that treat reflux, without the happy side effect of increased lactation. Not everyone wants that, if you can imagine.

So now that this pharmacy is making it (I guess the components are approved, and the LC I spoke to last night mentioned that maybe domperidone was never not approved in the US. I know, I’m confused too.), lots of moms will have a much better option in the ole galactagogue market here in the States.

You see, I also tried fenugreek, which is an herb that you take in fairly large quantities. It didn’t help me a lot, probably because my supply was so low, but I did start to smell like maple syrup, which was an interesting side effect. Then my doctor prescribed Reglan (her exact words were, ‘I’ve never had anyone ask me to prescribe a drug to help them make more milk.’), but after two days, its side effects of uncontrollable shaking and anxiety were making me a basket case.

Domperidone had no effect on me at all. Actually, after I stopped taking it, I was a little heartburn-y for a couple of days, so it was doing its intended job too!

Now, moms won’t have to feel like under-the-table drug dealers to get this awesome drug. There you go.

Somehow, I have become a person of power in my neighborhood. When I volunteered to be the secretary of our neighborhood association, I had no idea that this would make me one of the “trustees” of said association.

When I think of a “trustee” I think of a sixty-something older person who has lived here for 30 or more years, with an intricate knowledge of county politics, topography and planning and zoning. That, or Jimmy Carter. I, however, am 28; I’ve lived here for a little over two years; I’ve never lived here before; I couldn’t care less about county politics. I don’t think that I could even pick Buzz Westfall (our county executive) out of a lineup.

Not that I really have all that much power as a trustee. I get to send out letters letting everyone know about our annual meeting that no one ever goes to. I get to say “OK” when the treasurer tells me that our insurance went up $33 this year.

Anyway, this is all very boring and I’m sorry that I even mentioned it. I thought it was going to be funny, but it wasn’t. Hey, no one promised you Letterman, all right?

Two of my friends’ birthdays are today. Kim (not Kimmy) joins me in the ranks of the 28 year-olds. Korry is still a relative innocent at 27. Let me tell you friend, it all changes when you’re 27. Or maybe it only changes if you have a child.

Anyway, unfortunately, they both lost their jobs at AOL last week, which is not good. This is poor Kim’s third job that has disappeared beneath her. I offered to send Steve Case one of Auggie’s foulest post-tofu-and-corn-dinner diapers, but Tim said we don’t want to get prosecuted for some kind of letter bomb, so maybe we’ll just keep filing those beauties away in the ole Diaper Genie.

So if you have a job in the San Francisco area for two crack journalists (not crack-addled, mind you), may I recommend Kim and Korry? Korry has extensive knowledge of obscure (some would say useless, but not me) baseball facts. Kim would make for a flirty and fun colleague. Korry wears lots of layers — growing up in Rockford, Illinois has made him a very sensible dresser. Kim is one of the cheapest drunks that I know.

What a package!

Happy birthday, guys. Now, get thee to an unemployment office!