I had an appointment to give blood the day before I went back to work. I also had an appointment with a counselor that day, and I took Chloe to both. It made the counselor's day, she said, especially when I asked her to hold Chloe for a minute so I could put my appointment card away and get my jacket on, and the Red Cross ladies were delighted with her as well. (They were appalled that she was barefoot until I explained that she had had a big blowout as we came in and her socks got messy, and while there was a spare onesie in the diaper bag I hadn't thought to pack spare socks. I'd wrapped her up in her blanket, but they fetched a warmed one to put her in anyway until my ten minutes at the canteen were up. There are now spare socks in the diaper bag.) Apparently Miss Overlord plans to gather new minions by beguiling them with her charms, at least to start with.
The screening questions included whether I'd been pregnant in the last six weeks, but not whether I was nursing. I passed the hematocrit (which hasn't always happened) so I was allowed to give my blood. I didn't get faint or anything (which has happened), but I didn't feel quite well afterward. "Double up on your fluids for the next few days," the woman in charge of me told me as I was getting off the bed. I tried to remember how much extra fluid I was supposed to be drinking for nursing, add it to the regular 48-64 daily ounces, and double the entire amount. It was a lot. As Dad later suggested, I should have done it the day before; I felt vaguely ill the rest of the afternoon and not-quite-well into the next day. It may be permissible, but my body doesn't seem to like the double (triple?) duty. Other nursing mothers be warned.