We leave for Chicago today. The Bank of America Chicago Marathon is tomorrow morning, starting at 8 CST. (I keep wondering how long it will take for me to actually cross the starting line, since there are something like 45,000 runners.)
I'm nervous about the race, but I'm honestly more nervous about little L. She won't take a bottle (I nurse her, so she never has to), and I've been worrying about this for months. I usually feed her about every three hours during the day, so I know she's going to be ravenously hungry by the time I finish the race. She will eat Cheerios, or bananas, and Bob will maybe be able to force one ounce down her from the bottle, but she's not going to be happy.
How did this happen? Cecil wouldn't take a bottle either, though I know why. L. used to, and then just stopped. It freaks me out a little sometimes; sometimes, it just frustrates me. I love her to pieces, and I'm not itching to "break free" from her, but every once in a while, I'd like to be childless for a couple hours and not worry about being home for the next feeding.
Anyway, I have to be in the starting area at 7 CST, which means I can maybe nurse her around 6:30. Then nothing until I finish. And that will be after noon. I think I had better just stop thinking about this, or I'll go crazy.
After Cecil stopped taking a bottle, I vowed that I would make sure that our next child would take a bottle. And then I forgot how important it was...
2 comments:
so how did it go?!
New post coming sometime soon...
But, in a nutshell:
It was brutal. And I finished.
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