I have a list.
A long list, of all the projects and things I'd like to accomplish. Sewing. Knitting. Sorting. Purging. Clearing out the old, the unused, unwanted, not needed.
And yet, here I sit. Nauseous. Achy. Woozy. Crabby. Unable to do anything. My sense of balance off, causing me to tip to the side and nearly fall. Craving chocolate and sweets, and having them make me even more sick when I succumb. The taste of tinfoil in my mouth. My sense of smell heightened, triggering yet even more nausea.
No, I'm not pregnant. I have a migraine. A whopper, day 4. Could have been many things--the change in seasons, change in air pressure, Easter being over, dog stress, bills, an upcoming trip to Minneapolis for my sister's reception, the looming 10-year anniversary of my Mom's death. All contribute, but that doesn't change the fact that it's here. Weighing on me.
As usual, I'm nervous about taking my medicines. The ones that don't work but are approved for breastfeeding mothers. The ones that kind of work, sometimes. The ones that do work if I catch it at the right time, but don't always. Unfortunately, there's no magic pill.
I put it off until I can't stand it anymore. Then, it's not enough.
And now I worry again. That she won't take the thawed milk I have for her in the fridge, because it comes from a bottle and not from me. That she'll get crabby and start to scream. That I'll get crabby and start to scream.
I want to feel better. I wish I wasn't complaining. I'm sorry. I just need it to go.