Weaning’s a bitch. (Sorry, subtle isn’t my thing). Back when Sweet Pea was a teeny tiny potato-like little thing, I read this article about weaning and depression and I tucked it away somewhere in my brain. Then a friend of mine mentioned how she weaned super gradually with her second because she had mood issues with weaning her first. This was another piece of information I stored in my brain, which, for the record, is getting crowded and inefficient. As in, can anyone tell me why I remember my best friend since third grade’s phone number but not that I need to take my favorite shirt out of the dryer after five minutes instead of leaving it in for 60 minutes? Now I have midriff shirt.

So I mentioned to that same friend that I’d felt blah for the past several days in a row. Like not real energetic, kind of pissy, easily frustrated (more than usual, I mean), and just generally not like myself. I did a hard eight miles on the treadmill on Thursday. My normal self would have been so happy after that kind of workout, not just from the sweat-fest but also because I am miraculously running as fast as ever with little training. Instead I only felt marginally better after this killer workout. On Sunday I was snapping at Dan all day and alternately angry with him and ashamed of myself for being such a b*tch. When Sweet Pea woke up from her nap the three of us headed out into the sunshine for a walk. We’d barely made it to the sidewalk when Dan asked me if I’d rather not come. I mumbled that I did want to go but then I really I wanted to go in the house and cry out of view of our neighbors so I changed my mind and let them walk without me.

So my friend, the one who told me she had weaning issues, was like, “Are you weaning?” And thank god for her because even though I kind of knew weaning might cause me to have mood issues, I forgot.  Things feel different when they’re actually happening to you, you know?

Remember when this blog was all about breastfeeding, pumping and exercise, and how I was muddling through figuring all of those out? And you know how I haven’t talked about all that in a while? Well it’s because it was all going fine. My boobs don’t leak anymore, I don’t pump at work anymore, and since I only nurse first thing in the morning, right before Sweet Pea’s bedtime, and after naps (1-2 times mid-day), there’s not a whole lot to coordinate as far as timing of workouts. And now that she’s 12 months old, she has a couple teeth (seriously, just two teeth), she’s eating regular food, and nursing less, I’m like, “Cool, I have a little more freedom.” Oh and for everyone who is like “How long are you going to nurse?” Well, the answer remains, until one of us doesn’t want to anymore. Man, that question annoys the crap out of me. Sometimes I just say we’ll definitely stop before she goes to college for S’s and G’s.

So anyway, it’s not that I don’t want to anymore, I just want to do it less often. So we’ve gone from a solid four times a day and maybe once in the middle of the night to three to four times a day and no pumping during work (I work one to three days a week) over a period of about 6 weeks, and it is making me crazy.

I am experiencing a tsunami of PMS, including sadness, anger, general blah-ness, and bloating. It feels like my body saved up all the months of PMS it didn’t get to experience for the past 23 months to unleash it all on me at once. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, right?

I hate the idea of just riding this out because, well like I said, it feels crappy, but also, I usually want things when I want them which tends to be right now. So I prescribed myself some placenta pills. You know how I had my placenta encapsulated? Well, I took about 3 of those pills a day for a couple weeks after Sweet Pea was born, which means I have approximately a million left. So now, I’m taking a couple of those bad boys a day. The label says to take them immediately post-partum and “during times of stress, depletion, or transition.” I think they are helping, though it’s only the second day I’ve been using them. I know there could be a placebo effect, but I’m ok with a little trickery if it means I can start feeling better.

Placenta. It’s what’s for dinner.