Stick a fork in me. I'm done.
After being up all night unable to breathe, with painful coughing fits and fever and chills, I conceded to KB that I CANNOT DO THIS. THIS being working full-time, sending Jackson to daycare full-time, pumping to facilitate all the full-times, and trying to live in between. Cause I'm not, really. I'm just barely, barely surviving. He admitted that he's been really worried about me having post-partum depression*, and that he wants me to quit my job and worry about the details of finding freelance work later. I am relieved, and yet still feel like a failure. Mostly relieved. I'm gonna go with that.
I'm taking some sick days at work because, well, shit, I'm really fucking sick, and have been for two months, and I'm spending my awake time (when not pumping, cause there's always THAT) hunting online for part-time contract medical writing jobs. I'm just going to pepper the interwebs with my resume and online applications and see who bites. I'm also going to compose an email to our daycare/school principal to formally request rates for downgrading to part-time, either 3 or 4 days per week. My preference would be 3 days, maybe Monday-Wednesday, giving us four-day weekends together. If no job materializes and the money gets tight over the next several months, I will pull him out of daycare and stay at home full-time for a while. Anything is better that where I am at this moment. And I might surprise myself -- I might really like that. You just never know.
So, Interweb Bloggy Friends, fingers crossed that I haven't spat in the universe's eye too much and that things work out for the best in all this. Time to set my life on track and thoroughly enjoy this delicious little bundle of joy we worked so hard to have.
*I don't think I do, but I'd bet at least a couple of acres of the farm on situational depression. Since antidepressants aren't indicated for that anyway, I'm just gonna go with the behavioral modification approach -- that behavior being, taking this job and shoving it.