crying over spilled (spilt?) milk.

I'm obsessed with my tatas.

they are the lil' Prof's only means of survival (unless someone gave him a bottle, that is).

they're sore.
incredibly sore.

they're busy between 5-7 hours a day.

they refuse to be clothed.

and, quite frankly, I'm sick to death of them.

breastfeeding is...I'm not gonna say 'hard' because the act itself is actually quite easy...

so I'm going to go with "laborious."

it is all encompassing. pervasive. it leaks, if you will, into every single aspect of my existence.

it affects what I eat, how I dress, where I go, how my time is allocated, when (as well as where and with whom) I sleep, and is basically running my fucking life.

a human milk supply is a very fragile (I'm coming to realize) entity. I can't exercise too much (0r at all...cause I'm sore). I can't take a break. it must continue...every two hours. no matter what.

I have to feed constantly to avoid clogging, plugging and infection, and it's all I can do to get a few extra ounces a day put aside should I want to *gasp* leave StinkBottom for an hour or so. (which, quite frankly...I don't)

last night...I spilled an entire bottle of precious, hard-won, coveted milk.

not gonna lie...I almost had a heart attack.

did I mention that I'm sore?

I won't even consider formula or supplementing. not a chance in hades, so I've come to the conclusion (oqui had to tell me) that I better just make the better of it.

I thought that being pregnant was a buzzkill...

but (incredibly) achey and highly demanded boobs definitely take the tata.



I'm never leaving the house, again.

ooh, I did forget...

as if I was begging the universe to enact my boob leaking fear...

(and like a total dumbass) I forgot to properly protect against leakage, and sent oqui home for nursing pads.

I will get better at this...honestly.

so yeah...

we climbed.

I did suck. worse than I expected, actually. I was unbalanced, lacking technique, way weak and my harness didn't fit. I want a do-over on the last 10 months.

I also did snarl. I tried not to, but it was inevitable. people were near him. people I didn't know. me no likey.

all in all I have mixed feelings about the evening.

the climbing gym USED to be like a second home...tonight I felt like a stranger.

worse than a newb, cause I know I should know what I'm doing...and DO know enough to know that I looked like an idjut.

on the other hand...

that harness aint getting any bigger and unless I feel like lugging around 10 pounds of "training weight" for the rest of my life...

a girl's gotta hit the wall.

(literally, figuratively and colloquially)

ooh, I forgot...

MAJOR CON:

-my boobs'll probably leak.

weight

as chubby as I am (at an appointment yesterday i was told that my current weight is within "normal" range, to wit I replied..."fuck normal"...but I digress)...

this post is not about my gigantic muffin top or saggy gunt (hot, right?).

it is instead about decision making.

I'm considering climbing tonight, and have thusly decided to weigh the pros and cons.

pros:

-I'd be climbing. duh
-the 'pah and I need this. this is how our partnership was formed...this is what we do together.
-physical activity is (or at least was) a huge and integral part of my being...perhaps I should remember what that feels like
-I'd be climbing.
-gotta take that first step in getting back to my old self at some point
-everyone could see the monkey at the gym, so I wouldn't have to worry about trying to fit in showers on random weeknights for visitors
-catch up with peeps

cons:
-the gym is stinky and germ infested and the Prof is still itty bitty (obviously, he'd be coming with us cause I can't have him out of sight for more than 15 minutes without a mild panic attack)
-I might suck
-fashion (and function) disaster. I don't think I have any clothing (or climbing shoes and harness for that matter) that fit
-I'm probably gonna suck
-everyone is gonna want to touch him. I might snarl
-intense upper body exercise can lead to clogged ducts, breast infections and sheer misery (although the chance is slim, this suki does NOT look forward to fearing a breast infection again...being hit by a truck might be preferable)
-I'm still uber protective and get unintentionally and inexplicably spazzy when out of my den with the cub. I might snarl.
-I kinda like drop-in visitors...as long as they don't smell of smoke and try to touch the Professor
-what's a pull up???


all that being said...I really want to climb.

but, I'll leave it in the hands of the 'pah.

he's probably too tired to want to climb, anyway...

oqui wants

oqui wants:

-new pants
-snow tires
-a good nights sleep
-the baby and I to be quiet during his fifth feeding in the dead of the night
-vegetables that aren't over-cooked
-and apparently, a skull fracture in the exact shape and size of my ski boot.

gentlemen, here is a bit of sound advice for those of you who either have little ones, or will at some point...

do NOT fuck with their breastfeeding mother.

she is chubby, hormonal and sleep deprived to the point of near-psychosis.

translation: she will stab your bitch ass.

if you cannot be at least helpful (gasp! what is this suki going on about??? a man being helpful in the middle of the night???) then at least do yourself a favor and make an effort to contain your hostility...

lest you find yourself at a 24 hour grocery store, screaming infant in hand, asking the clerk where they keep the infant formula...

'cause your baby momma got sick of your selfish ass and bounced.

paperwork

I'm wondering if it's too late to legally change the pooper's name...




to Captain Cock Block.



It's painfully obvious that as long as this child insists on sleeping in our bed (it's also obvious that he'll insist on doing so for quite some time)...



we won't be seeing any action...at least from each other. the child is 8 lbs of pure cock-blocking fury. in bed...he's about 6'8" 340...and determined.

we'll either need longer appendages or detachable naughty bits.



go go gadget genitals.

remind me...

to NEVER go to Vegas.

last night was sheer torture with the Professor. he was held and coddled and sweated up by a myriad of interested visitors all day (ie. he slept his way through the torment, body lotion, deodorant and perfume)...

and was hell on earth last night.

I made it to bed around 1am. he got up at precisely 3:14...and stayed that way until almost 6:30 (I'm guessing. I finally threw in the towel and handed him over to oqui somewhere around daybreak).

he nursed. cooed. pooed. puked. farted. peed. nursed. wailed, etc...

I was all good for the first two hours. he's wicked cute, but when my he pinched my nipple for the 80th time with ice cold, newborn, pincer-grip fingers...I was done.

that shit hurts.

sometime in the wee hours of the morning:

me: that's it! oqui, I'm done!
oqui: hmmmshshsmmmmghghaj?
me: the kid. he's yours. I can't do anything for him. g'night.
oqui: what are the chances he cries it out?
me: (said in a none to friendly tone) NONE!

a nanosecond later the Prof stopped crying.

obviously I'm no good with calculating percentages and am quite the stupendous fool.

good thing he started fussing, again, 4.3 seconds later or I would've lost all street cred.

so I tried to nap amidst tears of pain, frustration and exhaustion, whilst the 'pah tried to quiet the kid without a boob.

eventually we all slept. I even managed to sack in til 10ish (at the expense of o'pah being the walking dead today)...and I got myself a nice warm bath.

amazing how all is well when one no longer smells like baby doodie.

all told, this whole baby deal is pretty damned easy. I'm not anxious, upset, weepy, depressed or even moderately annoyed. he's nursing well. I feel rested and at ease and I'm thinking the nonny is only slightly worse for the wear...

now, if we can just muster up enough money for things like heat, shelter and food and one income...

we'll be all good.

harmony

there is balance in the universe.

after nearly killing me (and my boobs) the other night...the Professor has repented.

he spent the majority of today quietly observing his surroundings. he allowed several hiney changes without a single complaint...

and he did something that approximated a smile.

goddamn this kid is cute.

I think I'm going to have to go in and actually WAKE mr. give me the boob every 43.78 minutes for a feeding.

who's child is this???

and can I keep him? please!

humans are NOT nocturnal

could somebody please explain this to the Professor?

between 11pm and 6am he had me up for 3.5 hours.

for those of you a lil' slow on the uptake (like me)...

that's officially HALF of the freaking night.


I'm dying here...

our first week with Professor Stink Bottom

It's hard to believe (REALLY hard to believe) that I'm due (or at least was due) today...

this Friday if you go by the ultrasound dating, and here we are with a 9 day old human.

It's been a total time warp. day. night. sleep. waking...really no difference between them. we eat. we poo. the kid and I leak (pee for him, breastmilk for me). we change butts and outfits. lather, rinse, repeat.

I seem to alternate between good days and bad days energy-wise. During a good day, I clean the house, warm up some food and maybe (that's a maybe) take a warm bath...then, after having over-done it the day before, have a "bad" day during which I seem to do nothing more than nurse, loaf and drift.

both kinds of days...are actually kind of nice.

lazy hours pass looking at his perfect little head, kissing his soft little cheek and wondering what he's going to look like and whether or not he'll be a lady killer.

let's face it. he will.

his schedule is...erratic, at best. the only consistent thing thus far has been that he has absolutely no idea (none whatsoever) that momma likes to sleep...

at night.

he invariably cluster feeds between 2 and 5am...usually involving at least three diaper changes, two outfit changes, a case of the hiccoughs and vomit on my shoulder. again...

I really don't mind. if all he needs to keep his world a'foot is to fall asleep (5 or 6 times over the course of 3 hours) at the breast...I'm down.

he's wicked cute.

thankfully, he's nursing like a champ. so much so that I even let his great aunt Debbie (I think after yesterday, though, we'll have him call her evil aunt debbie) give him a pacifier.

heartbreaking and devastating. partly because I'm scared it will interfere with his nursing (and I'm extremely committed to that)...

but mostly because its hard to watch someone else comfort him.

so I pried the Nuk outta the evil auntie's hand (it involved something of a clint eastwood western style show-down, I'm almost ashamed to admit)...and almost threw it away.

instead, dreaming of uninterrupted hot soaks and a meal using more than one arm...I put it aside for later...

"just in case."

evil aunt debbie laughed.

my mother has cooked and frozen enough food to keep us fed for another three weeks, and I hear I've got 3 more casseroles coming.

go, mom. go, go. go, mom.

my family has been keeping a respectful distance since I had an all out crying jag after our first bout of visitors. I'm still having trouble letting anyone else touch him...he's just SOOOO SMALL.

by next week, though, I'll have to break down and start letting people parade through to show off the cutie. first the aunties...sans husbands and children (it's flu season. they're gross), then maybe some of the older cousins that don't strike me as having cooties...

then in three years, The Professor can start meeting his same generation cousins.

maybe.

yesterday he gave us a bit of a scare. he was overly lethargic and limp. last week his bilirubin was on the low end of high and we were told if he were to become...you guessed it...lethargic or limp, to call right away. of course, by the time the nurse called us back, he was wailing up a storm and had nursed.

all clear there, but still...try not to scare us like that, again, lil' man.

friday a photographer from the local paper came out to get pictures of the kooky home birth couple who used hypnosis for a human interest story next week.

we tried so hard to look normal. really, we did. oq wore a penn state shirt with a red sox hat, I did some stripey looking thingy and The Professor wore your standard issue baby garb. the photog got here just as Mr. Stink Bottom exploded, and had to wait 15 minutes while I disinfected the pup. by the time I got downstairs, PSB was in a roar, and I was sweating like a pig.

I pointed out the two clean places in the house suitable for picture taking...

and he picked two others. at one point (near the end of our lil' photoshoot, no less), I asked him if my hair was ok. he replied, "yeah. yeah. sure." I pulled a face and asked him, "no. really. is it ok?"

he smoothed a giant chunk down and said, "no worries. we'll just photoshop that."

sweet.

the goal of the piece is to highlight the benefits of HypnoBabies birthing (four hours of painless-fearless labor and five minutes of pushing. I HIGHLY recommend it. for realz)...and perhaps shed some light on the crazy hippy practice of home-birthing.

instead...people are gonna take one look at my drawn, gaunt face and effed up hair and go get IUD's.

either way. community served.

so we count our days listening to coos and whimpers...not to mention loud peeling screams (the Prof's got a set o' lungs on him, he does)...

hoping it doesn't go too slowly (I'm a little eager to get fit and climb stuff, again)...

but really hoping that it doesn't go by too quickly.

ps.

he has a name now.

Introducing the Amazing No Longer Nameless Baby:

Bryson Armando

giving birth...

was not NEARLY as traumatic as the poo I took last night.

I can't say for sure...but I'm almost positive satan had a hand in my bum.

Oqui insists that I go see a doctor...however, the only place I'm going is to the 24 hour super wal-mart to get some metamucil, fiber one, rubber gloves, tubing and a tow chain.

My bottom has been through a hella lot these last few days...

and I'm just looking forward to everything going back to being "innies."

and just like that...

I'm not pregnant anymore.

we have a beautiful (as yet to be named because he won't look us in the eye) baby boy.

I've been trying for a day and a half to find the words to accurately describe my birthing experience...and haven't been able to come up with them. it was the singular most amazing event of my life.

my water broke sunday morning at 3:25. wasn't really having contractions (at least no stronger than what I've been having for 4 months)...and thought I would maybe get some sleep til around 8 or so.

nothing doing.

he was born at 7:20.

I called the doulas first and told them, "nah. I don't think I need you yet." then I called the midwife. same deal. "nope. don't come yet." I walked around for an hour or so trying to clean up...then it occurred to me, "oh dear lord. I'm having a baby...like NOW."

the doulas got here just after 5 and i was already laboring in the tub. let me tell anyone who reads this:

HIRE A BIRTH DOULA.

they were absolutely stellar. between oqui, Lasi and Danielle I managed to birth my son with less than 2 1/2 hours of active labor (I'm going with 4 hours total) and five minutes of pushing.

no drugs. no hospital. NO FEAR.

when the midwife got here I was 7cm dilated...less than an hour later, he was born. in the very bed he was conceived in.

all the reading I've done during pregnancy really emphasizes the pain and mental anguish of labor and delivery.

so. not. true.

with the proper support and relaxation, the kind of birthing experience I had IS NORMAL.

the norm. common. typical.

I only wish I had discovered my power and strength with my first child...

then I might not have been too scared for 13 years to try it, again.

the as-of-yet-to-be-named baby is gorgeous, gentle and the sweetest thing I've ever seen.



...I think I'm going to demand a DNA test...just to make sure he's mine.


HIRE A BIRTH DOULA.