Weaning Una is a bit like the first trimester of pregnancy except you don't get a new baby at the end of it (you do however get new boobs. Or I live and dream anyway. More compact, less emotional ones). But these are my symptoms:
The sound of someone else's baby crying makes me cry.
If I watched tv with ads, they would make me cry. As I don't, then things on you tube make me cry instead.
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius is making me cry. And worry about Fred and Una being left to fend for themselves.
I'm hot (well, everyone in Melbourne is, but I am finding it hard to tolerate. I am particularly uncomfortable in my skin. My skin feels oily and weird).
I have a constant nagging background headache.
I feel oddly disconnected from Una (I know this goes away, Fred actually became more affectionate after I weaned her). But breastfeeding kind of connects you to the newborn stage, it reaches back to pregnancy, where your bodies are physically intertwined. There's so much about the psychology of separation from the mother, but so little written about the psychology of separation from the infant.
I've lost my writing mojo.
I've lost my cooking mojo.
I am incredibly, intensely clucky.
I want to look like I did when I was twenty-one for publicity shots I'm having taken next week. Instead I will look like someone's slightly frumpy mother. Because that is what I am. (ooh, now that was self indulgent).
I am waiting for a sense of freedom and self ownership to kick in. It hasn't yet. I don't suppose weaning means I can go disco dancing at a moment's notice or suddenly fly to Paris. Perhaps when I go and buy my first underwire bra since about July 2002 I will feel more self-ownering. An underwire bra is almost Paris. Isn't it? If it's red.