I've been really busy the past few days. Emily's been the big concern, and she's doing much better. (For those who didn't see, she fell out of bed on Tuesday night - specifically, 3:42 Wednesday morning - and broke her collarbone.) She's still in pain, but is moving much more smoothly and is off the heavy-duty painkillers, just Tylenol every 4 hours now. She has gotten to the point where she's milking it for all it's worth... "I think ice cream will make me feel better, Mama." "I don't think I should have vegetables with my dinner, that will make my shoulder hurt more." "I think one more kid's show would make me hurt less." I take that as a really good sign - when she was truly in overwhelming pain she didn't have the energy to push the envelope.

So, she's doing better. Still not up to par, but I can see improvement, which helps me to feel better about the whole thing. It's not that I feel guilty, just sad for her and truly understanding that thing that moms say that their kids look at them with the yeah-whatever-okay-mom look: "I wish I could bear this pain in your place." Because I really, truly would take it from her if I could. Motherhood just makes masochists of us, doesn't it?
I've had two interviews in the past 2 days. Another on Monday, and one more the following week. And wanna know the kicker? I won't find out the results of these interviews until February 25. Yeah. Nothing like prolonging the agony.

My son has stopped taking a bottle. We got lazy over the holidays. Since I was home all the time, we forgot to offer a bottle for three weeks or so, and now he considers it a personal insult. So yesterday and today I was gone for 7-8 hours at these interviews (YES, really - I am sooooo tired of being perky!), and he wouldn't eat the whole time I was gone. Luckily, we had started him on cereal and veggies, so he was willing to take some nutrition, but he wouldn't take a bottle - so I got home and he was ready to latch on through my brand-spankin'-new post-pregnancy-sized business suit.

Funny thing - I had to bring my breast pump with me to the interviews, lest I spring a leak in mid-sentence. So I'd borrow an office every few hours to take the girls down a few notches. I normally pump several times a day, two days a week, so I wasn't worried about it. So, yesterday - the first time, I was just finishing up, and somehow or other I spilled one of the bottles all over the floor of this total stranger's office. FANTASTIC. Breastmilk everywhere, and only a handful of Kleenex to dab at it. And seriously, how do you tell someone, "Um, yeah, thanks for letting me use your office. And if you notice a weird, milky, cantaloupey sort of smell in a few days, that's just breastmilk."

And then the second time I pumped, I was all done - as in, no milk had been coming out of either side in 30 seconds or so, no letdown, 6 ounces in the bottles, okay. So I turn off the machine and take the milker-part off me, and suddenly my left breast goes berzerk and I am literally squirting milk several feet across the room. EEEK, says me. You would think I had never done this before.

So, anyway, I'm exhausted and depressed and run-down and feeling sort of hopeless and cynical right now, feeling like I'll never finish my classes and never get an internship and never sleep through the night and never watch my daughter turn a somersault again and on and so forth. Very woe-is-me. It'll pass - it always does - and in the meantime I'm doing my best not to have any more broken bones or breast incidents in my house.