Last night, after days of wishing I could have some more iced coffee, I gave in and made some so I would have it this morning. I couldn't wait that long so I had one glass last night. That was a huge mistake. I was bouncing off the walls. I finally went to bed around 3:00. At 4:00, I was still laying there, wide awake, so I figured I might as well get up and do something useful. I sewed for awhile, then did some laundry. Noah woke up around 6:00. I figured I was up for the day then, so I had some more coffee and sat at the computer while Noah slept on my lap until Steve and Emma got up. At this point I have been up for about 40 hours straight. What am I, like 80 years old, that I can't handle a single glass of half decaf coffee? I am really starting to drag now.
Today was Emma's weaning party, and I think it was a success. She had a great time. I was planning on letting her nurse for the last time at the park, but she was sad and crying when we left so we moved the deadline to the end of today. I was sure I'd be elated, but I'm feeling more and more sad the closer we get to the end of the day. Doing it this way is just so final, and that's what's making it hard for me. I got her this plant (during a 1:00 a.m. trip to Price Chopper last night) to symbolize her growing up and gave it to her at the party today. And now I am off to nurse my baby to sleep for the very last time.