Tuesday, after a break of nearly 2 years, I resumed my menstrual cycle. I think. So far, I’ve only spotted a little. (Especially by my standards; my light is not other women’s light.) Still, it’s more something than nothing, so I am running on the assumption that this is the real deal. Especially since it came with cramps.
The timing could have been better, admittedly. I’m still fighting off a sinus infection, and I had a dental crown replaced Monday. Plus my freelancing load has picked up this week. But my cycle has never been known for its timing.
Suddenly, many of the symptoms I’ve had over the past week or so make sense. My scar has been burning lately, a deep and aching pain that no amount of stretching could alleviate. I’ve been puffy and bloated; this morning, I weighed myself to find I’m down three pounds from two days ago. (My weight doesn’t fluctuate that much ordinarily – not outside my menstrual cycle, anyway.) And I’ve been dwelling a lot on things that happened years ago – a sure sign of impending menstruation for me, but one I chalked up to the music I’ve been listening to lately. (It’s been 90s-a-go-go on my Spotify as of late.)
So far, I have noticed no difference in Kai’s nursing behavior, which is nice. But I know that this is a sign that things are shifting, changing. That one day he will no longer nurse. Just as he has grown from my tiny baby into my running, stumbling toddler, all too soon he will grow into my little boy and no longer need me for nourishment.
Perhaps it’s the PMS talking, but I’m sad just thinking about that.
This morning, I intended to get up early and knock out a little freelancing before work. But Kai started dream feeding just as I was about to get up. Then when he stopped, he was having such a good dream – even giggling in his sleep – that I could not bear to wake him by rising.
This isn’t forever, this phase. And I intend to wring every last moment from it while I still have it. (My pretty pony.)
Later, when I absolutely had to get up, I was washing my face when I heard him cry. I dashed into the bedroom to find him on all fours at the very edge of the bed, scared and frustrated that he could not get down alone. I worry about him crawling off the bed, which is why I keep such a cautious ear out for him whenever I leave him alone there. But I did not hear the sheets over the water running, and missed his waking this time. I am so grateful that he did not crawl off the end of the bed, as I’ve always feared he would. But I know that this, too, is a sign that he is growing up.
I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I’m not ready for this at all.