the last, the boobie baby.

They ask you in the hospital.  And at your obstetrician’s office while you’re peering over the giant mound that’s been your abdomen for the last few months.  You direct each answer to the top of your doctor’s head.  Strangers ask you in line at the grocery store.  Not men.  That would be weirder than weird.  And your mom-friends and neighbors all ask while they rub your bulbous belly and make predictions about the sex and weight of the karate kicking baby inside. 

Are you going to breastfeed?

Well, yes.  And then you’re sometimes asked the follow-up question, “for how long?”.  And that’s where this post, after so much nothing posted, begins.

Cadence was a ferocious eater in the beginning.  Her daddy referred to her as the baby pterodactyl during feeding time because of the dinosaur noises she’d make while she nursed.  I’ve never heard a real-live dinosaur make noise because they’re extinct now, but I imagine she hit the nail on the head.  It was awkward and I felt embarrassed quite a bit when nursing in public.  I felt fumbly and stayed home a lot until she began taking a bottle.  Like all my babies, she took in quite a bit of air.  The burps were manly and hilarious.  Often they induced hiccup fits.  The day she became aware of her hands they were all over my breasts leaving little pinches and scratches.  But that was the end of her nursing.  A hospitalizing case of food poisoning and a short bout of depression made me lose interest and she was done before her fourth month or so.  I mourned a  while, never really appreciating the health benefits or the connections we shared during those feedings.  I blame hormones and an ill-cooked turkey.

Sam and I had a rough start together.  His tongue was short and I felt like I couldn’t get him to do it “right” no matter the advice I took or the patience I mustered.  My nipples hurt for two weeks straight and I cried a lot.  Pain and hormones.  But he got it.  And I nursed him in public with more confidence than I had with Cadence.  Jed was eager to be a part of the feedings and Sam happily accepted bottles of pumped breast milk from him starting around the end of his first month.  More hungry dinosaur noises.  Lots of gas.  And reflux.  But we forged on and he only became bored with the breast around month seven.  And by that time I was enjoying only one feeding in the evenings before bed.  I was so much more appreciative of the natural food source and built-in pacifier I carried with me at all times  I wore my nursing bras under things well past his month eight, although he had become completely disinterested in nursing by then.  I had wanted to nurse for a year.

And now I have Annie.  My first boobie-baby.  I love the smile she flashes up at me when I look down at her, milk spilling from the corners of her pink bow-shaped mouth.  And this is how I know I am done having children.  When I completely ignore all the advice the books and websites give about pacifying a baby with the breast and pull out “leftie” at the dinner table just to have a sorta quiet (albeit one handed) meal.  And how I pull her close to me in the middle of the night when I hear her lips smacking for just a little suck even though I know she’s not hungry.  I cry a little to myself each time I pick her up and lift her growing body in my arms and up to my chest.  She is too long for me to nurse her in the armed chair and still too small for that huge and empty crib in the other room.  I know she is the last child because I don’t feel as sad or frustrated when she refuses bottle after bottle and holds out for me.  The reason I’ve been gone so long from the blog is that I find it  takes so much longer to type with only one hand.  But she’s the last, so I will not take for granted any second she will have me hold her and feed her with my body.

 

Just please link me to that video of the ten year old girl with the British accent still being nursed by her mum whenever she pleases if I haven’t weaned Annie by kindergarten.  Thanks and I’ll be back as soon as I can.

because if I don’t look on the bright side, I might just cry a little…

Today’s accomplishments:

“successful” trip to Target in which my previous posts about not going to Target were quickly forgotten.

nursed Annie (both sides) while she was strapped in the front-pack. completely avoiding red-faced, baby-goat noises all together.

ate a whole breakfast including coffee from a travel-mug JG ingeniously suggested. And a bagel my toaster oven (miraculously) didn’t burn.

dressed Sam in under thirty minutes.

remembered EVERYTHING on my grocery list without fishing it from my purse to double-check.

ate lunch. (okay. this hasn’t technically happened yet, but I’m dreaming of a turkey sandwich right now and I vow not to disappoint my stomach)

won my first game of Words With Friends against a random opponent on my new-to-me incredi-phone

changed an itty bitty diaper on my lap in the front seat of my van without having to change my clothes when I got home.

lost and then found a new hot-wheels helicopter.

purchased a hearty supply of tiny underpants.  potty school updates to come.

sad attempt at a nap involving television and little dog barking at camels, dogs, chickens. (still sort of annoyed that every channel I flipped to featured fauna)

BLOG POST…(is it dorky that I’m raising the roof right now?)

 

 

is that all I have done today? wow. it really is.

oh, wait. I showered.

now MARVEL AT ME while I pretend my house isn’t a disaster and my socks match one-another. mwah-hahahahahahahahah!  thursday hasn’t seen the last of me yet.

Early

Turns out eighteen more days was not necessary.

This is Annie Elise.  Today she is nine days old.  She was born last Friday at about the same time JG was to board a plane home from a business trip in Las Vegas.  Luckily, he heard his phone ringing at dinner on Thursday around ten pm (my time) and excused himself from the rest of the trip's closing festivities to come home.  And quick.  A red-eyed man in a rumpled suit never looked so good rushing into a hospital labor and delivery room.  

Roughly five hours after his arrival...she arrived.  

Annie Elise

All eight pounds and nine ounces.  And after a tiny scare about "too much blood for too long" was fixed up, I was shivering and fine and he was next to me holding her and things started to sink in.

Now we are five. 

eighteen days

eighteen more days of...
 "how many are in there?"
peeing in my pants when i cough (sneeze, laugh, cry)
walking like a duck
farting like a man
eating entire tubs of watermelon and/or cantaloupe
sam pinching my belly and saying "come outttt"
wearing shoes with my laces untied
that weird wrinkle that's formed under my boobs and across the top of my "fundus"
gagging while brushing my teeth (possibly)
hugs around the tummy from an excited Ladybug
belly-button "microphone" messages before nighty-night
raging heartburn, morning-noon-night
bananas to prevent 3 am charlie-horse cramps
and
eighteen more days of wondering if it has a ding-a-ling or not.
eighteen more days...or less.  i hope.

"my secret shame" with a little random crap at the end.

My husband started a WoW account shortly after we started dating.  If you have no clue what I'm talking about, congratulations and move along.  Nothing to see. here. folks. 

He claims he started playing this online role-playing game because I uttered some such something about needing "space" and him doing other things while I did my own thing etc. blah-de-blah and whatnot.  I don't remember this conversation, but that's neither here nor there.  My story continues...

A year later we are in a serious relationship and living together.  I was in classes at "the University" and he was working his way to stardom at his current company who shall not be named, but has a lot to do with software and computery shit.  (It's a software company and you surely have it's products in use on your computer.)  I'm only telling you this because it pertains to my story.  JG is a huge nerd.  You can say it, it doesn't hurt his feelings because A) he's aware of his nerdiness B) he's hot.  

So where were we? Nerd boyfriend, true love, living together in pre-wedded bliss.  Except about a year has given him plenty of time to "level" his character(s) on WoW and now he's nothing short than officially and unabashedly addicted to a game where millions of people all interact on the internet as magical beings such as goblins and elves and have powers like warlocks or high-priests and shit and they have to coordinate meetings to complete quests and defeat mortal enemies. 

Did I mention that at this point there may have been sad collections of fast-food cups littering his desk and on some occasions he did a lot of "working" from home?  In pajamas? Yelling, "heal, heal" and "just keep casting your nerd spell" into a little headset to friends he met in the game? No? Oh. 

Not a pretty picture.  So I did what any girlfriend would do when she finds herself watching Big Brother alone on the couch in dusty lingerie.   I told him I was going to dump him if he kept playing.  So he stopped, but that's not the end of the thingie. 

Over the last six years he's played on and off again randomly and I've dipped my toe in the "WoW widow" pool for weeks at a time, but there was always light at the end of those little tunnels.  We got married three years ago and he's climbed his way up the big-software-company's ladder quite high leaving little room for much more than family time and sleep.  He's still a nerd.  And still turning on the computer to visit various realms and seek out old friends still playing the game religiously.  

But either I'm too tired to care or I'm okay with it.  I even recently joked about maybe playing too.  You know... so we could run around in magical-nerd-land together.  (If you can't beat em....right?)  This is sorta what his face looked like when I made the silly suggestion...

cute, right?

(and look at my arm and boob...nice) 

Anyhoo.... this is where my long story gets short. 

He pays for my account.  I'm a level 21 Blood Elf Priest.  Last week he bought me a Celestial Steed to ride around Silvermoon City and the Dead Scar.  Don't judge me, this is as close as I'll ever get to having a real unicorn. And the only reason you're getting this post right now is because the site is down for regular updating maintenance until three o'clock.  

Now I know how all those Play Station people feel recently. (Shout-out to Tammie and her kiddo right HERE.)

I need to download livewriter to this laptop. This posting in blogger is for the birds. 

And finally:  get this baby outta me. 

don’t get excited

it’s just me posting a few photos of myself.  in the ten minutes it took me to set up, shoot, and upload these shots…

sam hit ladybug with a ruler, pulled almost an entire box of tissues out of the box, brushed the cat’s head with a barbie brush and sang a duet with cadence on the karaoke machine that made my ears melt off.  (i didn’t include the melty-ear shots. you’re welcome)

 

 

If you have any guesses when it will come and what sort of bits it will have down there…feel free to entertain me.  Whatever it is, it will have to make due with a pack of white onsies and some snap-front shirts.  That should get me through the first few days, right?

Miss you guys.

s

Missing

This morning I stepped out onto the patio before waking up Ladybug for school.  Jed left for some lucky place in Georgia early this morning and it was particularly quiet for seven am around here.  I even left the dogs in their bed (and my bed) while I snapped this shot of the backyard.  

 

Fast-forward ten minutes and I’m looking for a lost cowgirl boot, pouring milk over cereal and begging Ladybug to let me braid her hair while she turns her nose up at a vitamin shaped like Dino the dinosaur.  Boone rubs his neck in some stinky backyard stuff and Sam is on repeat “taw, taw, taw”.  He wants a straw for the milk in his cereal bowl.  And then he asks for Daddy and things start to get a little sad. 

He’s been to the front door and back to the bedroom a dozen times already.  Looking in the closet and pulling back the comforter.  Breaking my heart with every “no daddy”.

How do you explain “tomorrow” to a toddler?