I am tired. Mastitis gets right into the back of your brain and shuts your body down. It says, "You have been doing too much when you were just supposed to be nursing. What's the big idea? Hold STILL!" A big infectious hand comes along and slams you flat on your back. Your chest goes hard and hot, your belly cramps, and you feel like you have the worst hangover of your life. Now, if only you didn't have ulcers, weren't nursing and could actually have a drink.
It's odd the things I'm craving, as I'm still on this low residue nonsense. A glass of white whine, chilled, would be lovely indeed. However, what do I really want? I want a salad.
I want a huge bowl of spinach salad with blue cheese, pecans and pears. I want to follow it with a course of a simple garden salad with red onions and garlicky croutons. I want to finish it all off with a hearty helping of oil and vinegar coleslaw, served with a side of fennel and apple salad with creamy dressing. I'll even top the whole thing off with raw broccoli and radishes dipped in Hidden Valley Ranch.
In the meanwhile, I have Mastitis and am ridiculously excited to be in bed, surfing the webs and folding laundry with the munchkins downstairs with Dave. How luxurious is it to be able to fold laundry without a 3 year old bouncing on top of it? Let me tell you: heaven consists of mountains of laundry and Watch Instantly Netflix, with the ability to sit down, blog and have a cup of tea whenever you need to. Ah, the wonders of motherhood.