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Archive for December, 2009

Wine Time

I had an Aunt named Gracie who was know for saying “four o’ clock–wine time!” at that exact time each day. Gracie was a lot of fun. Everyone liked her.

However, as I am usually up from two a.m. until eight a.m. with the small creature as she wails and wants to eat and spits up and wants to eat and wails, I feel like wine by ten a.m. So, the new phrase is clearly “ten o’ clock–wine time!”

If only, if only…

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My breastfeeding outfits aren't this nice...

So, I bought these Milkies because my mother told me I had to a hectored me until I did. They are a new version of something she used, which she called a French Cup, and said looked like a donut for the boob. This one is larger than that, and perhaps not as comfortable.

Well, not everyone has this problem, but my let down makes about an ounce of milk at least, soaking through a nursing pad, my bra, my robe, and onto the MyBrest Friend. So, Milkies have saved me a few extra loads of laundry, for which I am always grateful.

Just don’t pull the rookie mistake I did, and allow baby to fall asleep at the breast then lean over to put her to sleep in her bassinett only to spill milk from unsucked breast’s Milkie all over her, her sheets, pad, matress, and of course, wake her up. Just don’t do THAT.

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I was at the hospital a few days ago for some tests, and as I was waiting for the elevator, I realized something devastating. I’m not special anymore. When I was nine months pregnant, everyone got out of my way. They held doors. People smiled at me. Now, I’m invisible again. I felt much this way after my wedding… I have used up all my specialness. No one will ever fete me again.

I wonder if this is why that woman who had twent-one chidlren had twenty-one children? She just wanted to feel special all the time.

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Merry Merry!

This year for Christmas I would like eight hours of uninterrupted sleep… Ok. I’d settle for four.

Happy holidays!

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Wide Load

Yesterday I looked in the mirror sideways (with clothes on; I’m no glutton for punishment) and I thought, hey, that’s not too bad. Two weeks into motherhood and I look pretty normal. Then I turned to the front–whoa! That’s where all that weight is being stored, sideways! I am so WIDE! How did it happen???

I had a boyfriend once (not a particularly nice one) who said of a gal that she was so fat she needed back-up bells. That’s me right now. Beep-beep-beep!!!

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We’re getting the hang of breastfeeding one milk-sprayed session at a time. She’s getting enough so that we can feed less expressed milk, but not enough that we can just do the breast milk. Mainly, this is because she only likes one boob. Funnily enough, her father prefers the other. Perhaps they made a pact, “OK, you can do this breastfeeding thing, but only on that boob. the other one’s mine.”

My lactation consultant said it’s actually quite common for babies to prefer one breast to the other. So strange. It’s like preferring this Starbucks on the right side of the street to that other Starbucks on the left. Except in this case, both Starbucks have the same crummy barista.

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What to Share

If you’ve been reading my posts, you know that I’ve had some issues with breastfeeding. My daughter and I are remedial breastfeeders. We have a remedial breastfeeding group now.

And you know what? I don’t really need everyone to know that. I don’t need to share with every family member. I don’t need anyone to hang around and watch me fail at breastfeeding, or excel at pumping out a bunch of milk from my sad, rock-hard boobs. But some people have shared with some other people, and now I’m having obligatory conversations with family members (and worse, in-laws) about how unsuccessful my breastfeeding is.

What is it about pregnancy and post-partum states that makes it OK for people to ask about my weight gain, my perineum, and my breasts? Oh, but they do. After my husband spilled every gory detail to his mother, I said to him, “honey, would you like to have a conversation about your penis with MY mom?”

He got the point.

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