Yesterday was brutal. Mary clung to me, every minute of the day. I had to be holding her every second, or she screamed and cried. I tried to enjoy it, she's never been overly cuddly and I miss holding my baby sometimes, but christ. She's 23 pounts, and let me tell you, 23 pounds of limp, sobbing, dead weight baby is hard on your arms. She's still sick today, but the morning is going much better than yesterday morning, so I have hope that today will be a bit better.
We got the official word on Ians work yesterday. He will not be going to Arizona, he's going to southern California. He'll be leaving on February 4th. The job is 15 weeks. That is just under 4 months. 4 months. Let me say it again, Four. Months. He has the option of coming home for a week after he has been there for 3 weeks, but he has to pay for his own plane tickets here and back, which we will likely not be able to afford. I'm trying to be supportive, he's optimistic and excited, but all I want to do is cry. I guess it would be different if either of us had family here, but we don't. Yes, we have fantastic friends, but no matter how good of friends they are, they arent parents. I can't expect my friends to look after me the way my Mum or Dad would, or even Ian's Mum. I guess I can't complain that much. I was the one who pushed him to leave the Lube place, I was the one who found him this job, I'm the one who wants to stay home with the baby. I just don't know if I can do this. Some days I need a break from Mary by time Ian gets home after 10 hours, how am I going to do it by myself for 15 weeks?
Ian says that after this job, he will be working locally in Alberta for a few months, and then in the fall they will be going to Hawaii for another job. My Aunt and Uncle have 2 (2!!) condo's in Hawaii, so if we can swing it, Mary and I might go with him and stay in one of their places. Even if we arent on the same island, I'm not letting Ian go to Hawaii without me.
Anyways, I'm trying not to let this news drag me down, but so far, I'm not having much luck. It's a good thing that this happened after Mary's vaccines, or when the nurse asked me all those probing questions about "Mood," and "How I'm Coping" I might have broken down and been labeled Post-Partum (again). The last thing I need right now is more mental health professionals pretending they care and trying to force drugs down my throat.