For the last couple days, I've been desperate for salty crunchy things, I've been feeling a little bloated, I've been short tempered, and as I gaze at my beautiful, practically seven month old baby who is the light of my life and the apple of my husband's eye, I've been thinking OH HELL NO I'M NOT HAVING ANOTHER ONE, IF I AM PREGNANT AGAIN I WILL GO INSANE.
Well, the good news is I'm not pregnant.
What's sad is that I had totally forgotten that menstruation was even on the options list of things my body could do.
I remember being twelve, and desperately hoping I'd get my period soon, so I could sigh weakly, float to the nurse's office, ask for some Tylenol (this was the Dark Ages where they didn't need a signed waiver and your mother's name written in blood before you could get Tylenol from the nurse) to ease the pain of "my time of the month," and wear the little belt I'd read about in that Judy Blume book you had to read if you were a twelve year old girl.
When my period finally came, I was completely disgusted when I found out belts were decades out of date and I was going to wear a peel and stick thing that felt like a diaper.
I have not enjoyed my menses since. When it ceased, and I realized we had in fact made a baby, I was thrilled about not having a period. The main thing I was looking forward to about breastfeeding was not menstruating. In fact, I demand a refund from my uterus. I'm still breastfeeding all the time. I have a twenty pound seven month old to prove it! No, I can't say "exclusively breastfeeding," we give him smushed fruits and veggies now, but trust me when I say the nutrition is still entirely from my dairy bar here. He's eating tops a half jar (the small size) a day.
In the face of that, why am I back to snarfing pretzels (delicious, perfectly crunchy salty pretzels) like they were manna from heaven?