today

totally sucked.

had an appointment for a nursing consultation at the birth center. of course, the prof screamed bloody murder, projectile vomitted and peed in his own eye.

I said to the midwife, "yeah. he's a bit 'opinionated" to wit she replied, "hmmm...wonder where he gets that from."

indeed. a rottweiler and a pitbull don't go giving birth to a golden retriever.

so he fussed, was forced to get nekkid in public, again and was completely out of sorts. he wouldn't latch, kept startling and screaming in his sleep and was generally fucked up.

...then the la leche league leader came over. too much. sensory overload. he went directly into a coma until she was ready to leave, at which point he exploded into a symphony of unhappy noises. fortunately, she's an old hand at fussy babies and danced with him a bit. he got quiet for 42.3 seconds...

then let loose hell's fury, again.

she left. he gnawed ineffectively on my boob for an hour or so then cried some more.

so now it's 11:30 at night, I haven't spent a minute with the 'pah (we even had to take turns eating dinner cause the prof needed soothing), stink bottom's belly is less than satisfied and I'm sore as shit.

I got a list of old wive's tale cures for breast plugs, all of which I'm going to try...repeatedly. if they don't work, I'm going to nurse exclusively on the left side. my right boob can go fuck itself.

so if you happen to see a lopsided boob chic with a screaming baby attached to her...that'll prolly be me.

today proved quite a few things to me, though:

-I know my baby. I know what he wants/needs, and when I can't or don't give it to him...I get what's coming to me

-complain as I might...I'm extraordinarily grateful. half a dozen women took the time to see me, visit my home, talk on the phone with me, research things for me, etc. I'm incredibly lucky to have that kind of support. I might be feeling icky over the prof's less than perfect latch...but at least he does. we're nursing (ineffectual and uncomfortable as it may be)...and that, in and of itself, is a blessing.

-my family likes sausage gravy and biscuits. I feel like an IHOP chef.

-I'm way more patient than I thought. I gotta give myself some props for holding it together so well while stink bottom freaked. the dark chocolate and vanilla stoli treat I promised myself when I got home helped...

-doing shots with your 13 year old daughter = probably not a good thing...

but kinda fun when you're having a shiteriffic day.

(relax...her's was half full and mostly orange juice)

-again...I can always cut the fucker (the fucker being my uncooperative tit) off.


for christmas, I just want my tata to stop hurting.