Yes, my seven week old is still on about 2-3 hour feedings. Good thing is that he takes about 3-5 minutes to scarf down a full dosage, so it's not as debilitating as it could be, although at times I dream of Le Leche League-Like bliss, where I calmly read a novel or have "me" time whilst I sit with him nuzzled against me and gently feeding and then drifting to sleep (for 3 hours, after I gently place him in his crib and he does not wake).
Instead, we have 3-5 minutes of furious gurgling, sucking, and the indignant squawks he emits when he finds himself hosed down by boob spray or if he comes unlatched. It's like wrestling a small squirming pig, but it's brief, and seems to do the job (he's now nearly 12 lbs).
Speaking of 2 hourly feedings, I do not seem to be able to stop cramming my face. I wish I could say I was imbibing bulgur wheat, tofu treats, and ample fresh fruit, but instead I am working my way very steadily through the massive piles of chocolate that remain in our home after the holidays. Nanny and Grandy have flown back to England, and behind them have left a house bulging with rich food which, for some reason, I feel indebted to eat so I can get it out of the house before I start to "get back in shape..." Throwing it away--1lb bars of Toblerone, for instance--is simply not an option. This stuff is premium, I tell you. So eat it I will. Even while I know that it's making me feel fat, sluggish and generally not very good. It's my mission. Not even the fact that I managed to (I have no fucking idea HOW) lose all my pregnancy weight within 4 weeks but now the scale is now creeping scarily upwards will stop me. My stomach is now at full capacity (no 10lb baby cramming it into a wee pocket) and I can eat like a maniac and still not feel sickishly full. I think I might need help.
I return to aerobics tomorrow (more precisely--"cardio buffet"). Maternity leave ends in 2 weeks, and I can return to work and the "all things good to eat" deprivation chamber that is my office (if I was SAHM I would be mega, I swear. Either that, or there would be a "no cookies for anyone" policy in the home).
And here ends my obligatory January "I feel fat post..."