Feb
12
Observations
Filed Under Uncategorized | 87 Comments
Okay, I don’t want to gross anyone out too much, but I just want to say this for the record: although I do not know what it feels like to push a baby from my own body, I DO know what it feels like to go big Rudy lay some Alaska pipe drop the kids off at the pool stack some logs pinch a loaf go Number Two after the effects of hydromorphone hydrochloride have wreaked their internal havoc, and if childbirth is any worse than that, well thank the 8 lb, 6 oz baby jesus for the miracle of surgery because OH MY GOD THE PAIN THE PAIN KILL ME NOW.
Ahem. Onward, to the less unsavory blog content:
Dude, Cat is twice the size of the baby. That’s just wrong. Also note how she’s getting as much hair as possible on his pacifier. We’ll probably blow that off or wipe it on our shirts or something before cramming it back in his fuss-hole, we’re not unsanitary.
Riley would like everyone to know that he is still v. cute and charming, even though he suddenly seems about the size of a T-Rex.
SPEAKING OF CUTE. Hello, big brother kissing on the baby, could you DIE.
This last one is just in case you haven’t had your RDA of sucrose. I believe this child may be formed entirely of creme brulée. I mean, when he’s all angelic and sleeping like that, not so much when he’s making weird elephant trumpeting sounds from both ends at 3 AM.
Feb
11
T & A
Filed Under Uncategorized | 117 Comments
I don’t imagine the majority of you are terribly concerned with what my boobs are doing these days, but for those who have asked: I’m not breastfeeding Dylan. This is not a personal choice I made, but rather a sort of crappy and ongoing medical issue that prevents me from doing so.
I knew it wasn’t a possibility for me to breastfeed before I got pregnant, and I hope you’ll understand when I say I didn’t find that a big enough deterrent to avoid having another baby. I’ve had well-meaning friends ask if I planned to breastfeed this time around and I found myself flat-out lying (“Well, I’m definitely going to try . . .”) instead of just telling the truth, because it makes me feel — well, ashamed, I guess. I feel shitty admitting I can’t do something that nearly every other mother on earth can do; it’s all wrapped up in a weird package of guilt and inadequacy for not having “normal” births or being able to feed my child without my good friend Similac and around and around it goes.
I don’t feel concerned that giving him formula will cause him problems, but I do feel sad that the positive benefits of breastfeeding will never be part of my parenting experience. It is what it is, though, and as long as my boys are healthy and happy the details of how they made their exit from my body and what they ate in their first six months aren’t worth dwelling over. So I tell myself, anyway, but of course it’s often hard to follow your own best advice.
At any rate, he’s eating like a champ (seriously, it’s unreal: at this rate those spindly appendages will be Michelin-sized in no time) and it’s nice that JB is able to feed him too and, you know, silver linings.
To address another recent FAQ, if you’ve made a baby-related purchase lately (from Motherhood Maternity, say), you may have received a coupon brochure from a Large Purveyor of Consumer Goods sporting some familiar images. Specifically, images of your intrepid author shamelessly flaunting her stretched-beyond-belief pink underwear for all the world to see:
That’s right, people, it’s MY ASS on the Huggies brochure. Dear god. Anyway, in case you were concerned they ripped me off Sweetney-style, never fear, the good people at Kimberly-Clark licensed those images fair and square. My butt is officially a marketing vehicle for The Man.
Lastly, BEHOLD:
The scary thing? I still think he’s cute when he’s doing this. Biological programming cannot be denied, even when your child looks like an angry, crumpled-up newspaper.
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