So last night I set an intention as they say in yoga. I put Niblet to bed 15 minutes early, and started to pretend to be that woman in the Calgon commerical from the 80s. I filled a tub with warm water and lavendar bath salts. And shut my eyes, and fucking sat in there until the water got tepid.
Then I finished my night routine of brushing, flossing and moisturizing immediately afterwards. I got into my jammies.... and crawled into bed (mind you it is about 8:45pm about now, that's how early it is)....and turned on the soothing sounds of.... dolphins.
You read that right. Fucking awesome dolphins.
After Niblet was born, my aunt asked what gift I could possibly use? And my answer was the Brookstone Sound Machine. This motherfucker would save my teary-assed, milk-laden life. Before the package arrived in the mail I was resorting to calm Niblet down with the soothing sounds of the hairdryer. By the time this picture was taken, we had already blown out a vacuum. Distressed babies, you see, seriously need some white noise. To recreate the soothing sounds of their in-utero experience. Below is an example of the lengths I would resort to to ease this kid's distress. (Note that she is swaddled within an inch of her life, and also please trust me when I say that I am not pointing a hair dryer *at* her, photo perspective is everything. Oh, and clearly my daughter's nursery looks more Dickensian baby prison than Pottery Barn catalog, but that is a post for another day).
However, when THIS came in the mail, I no longer needed to document such disturbing images of babies juxtaposed with hairstyling apparatus.
So that worked.
This week I've scheduled a visit to my acupuncturist. Next week I'll schedule a massage. Bring on the TLC.
I am trying to find comfort in the nausea (which occasionally leads to vomiting. Huzzah.). My OB called yesterday to talk next steps. Another ultrasound to schedule next week. A refill on my progesterone prescription, because, why the hell not. "Are you feeling more confident?" she asked, "you had to feel a little better after that scan." She also noted she was praying for me, which was sort of a nice, albeit awkward touch from a doctor I've never met but who knows that I have the uterus of doom.
No, Dr. H, I'm not quite there on confidence scale, I doubt I ever will be. But a lavender bath and the sounds of squeaking mammals against a backdrop of gently swishing waves didn't hurt.