Things must be returning to normal...

.. because here I am with insomnia again.

Ah yes, it's like being pregnant. Wide awake at 3 am.

Except I just had to do a night feeding, a diaper change, a putting-back-to-bed and a (breastmilk) pump session. Who can sleep after all that activity?

"So how's your blog," my mother asked me over the phone yesterday.

"I haven't had time to update it," I admitted. "But I'm working on the book proposal."

For those who haven't read my archives from day one (and why not? Go ahead, I'll wait...), I started this blog as a way to get an audience for my book idea about being pregnant and living with type 1 diabetes. Along the way, I dealt with infertility, IVF, pregnancy, birth of Baby L and now new motherhood is taking up a lot of my time. I recently quit my full time gig in order to freelance, and I'm committed to finishing this proposal that's been mostly written and hanging over my head for far too long.

Since I'm awake but not committed to working on the proposal at this hour, blog updating wins out.

In other news, the Boy was three months on Monday and oy! is he a CutieHead.

I've actually been more busy as a mom than I ever was as a non-mom working full time. Besides the obvious stuff (the feedings, the diapers, the clothing changes, the bathing, the visits, the outings), I've gotten into going to new mom groups and bonding with women who had babies around the same time as I did. There are also several mom moviehouses in my area where there are weekly films that cater to new moms. It's great--I get to see the arthouse flicks my husband hates ("Were there any phasers?" is a common question.), and if Baby L is loud or squirmy or in need of a fresh diaper, no one blinks an eye.

(And I haven't really missed working at my full time job at all. The hour commute on public transportation and the politics of the personalities at said job? Don't miss those.one.bit. I have been doing some freelance writing/research gigs from home and while my salary hasn't exploded, I love working in my own office, in my own house, making my own calls and doing my own research and being my own boss.)

I've learned how awesome a multitasker I am. I can easily hook myself up to pump breast milk, position Baby L so I can feed him a bottle with one hand, and use the other hand to surf the Internet. Mr. Lyrehca, in comparison, is not as much of a juggler. In chatting with other mom-friends, I am told that men are actually less capable of focusing on more than one thing at a time, and while I used to think that was just some excuse, I'm actually seeing that concept in action. (Or inaction).

Baby L is doing well. He's getting bigger each week, and when we met a friend who had a new baby about two weeks ago, I was astounded to see just how much he's thrived and grown. He's not my newborn anymore. As much as I loved cuddling with his tiny baby self, his skills are blossoming: neck control, extreme kicking (I see the film possibilities: "Bend It Like Baby L"), and a gorgeous muppet smile that's gummy, gooey and great. He lights right up whenever I coo at him. ("Babaloo!" I say. **Grin**)

And my expertise in things continues to grow. Much like how infertility introduced me to the concept of having two endocrinologists (one for the diabetes, one for the reproduction), motherhood has introduced me to the idea of two pumps, the insulin one (*so* old school, already) and the breast one.

I've become what they call an EP, or an Exclusive Pumper, of breast milk. As opposed to actually nursing. Because of a low milk supply (something ELSE I can pin on the diabetes, I'm told.), I gave up trying to feed the Boy from the boobs and just pump out what I can. To maintain the meager supply, I try to do it every 3-5 hours, without fail.

(Have I already blogged about the specifics of this? I feel like this is my new career, pumping breast milk.)

I've been at it for two months now. I pump while I'm in the car. I pump while reading your blogs. I pump while trying to entertain the baby. At 20 minutes at a time, 5-7 times a day, it adds up to a lot of time.

But with the health benefits of breast milk being what they are, I continue to slog ahead. No idea how long I'll keep doing it for, but I'm in it for the time being.

(If you somehow have found this blog by doing a search on "pumping breast milk" or somesuch, I urge you to sign up with the Pump Moms group on Yahoo. I've learned a bunch from these people.)

Another sign that I'm not pregnant anymore--my hair is falling out in droves. In the shower drain. All over my clothes. All over Baby L. I found one of my hairs in his diaper the other day and I just hope he didn't swallow it (though I suppose it's as natural as anything else he's eating from me these days).

And finally, I rejoined Weight Watchers and am trying to get back to doing some decent exercise every day. Despite losing nearly 30 pounds of pregnancy body without really trying, the remaining fifty that separate me from Postpartum Chick and Yummy Mummy need to be addressed.

I'm five pounds down so far, though I suspect most of that is hair.