Nursling

 

“Nursling” is the official word for someone who is breastfed.  Isn’t it the cutest? 

I have determined that I will use it as much as humanly possible.

(“Come here little nursling!” “Is that my nursling I hear waking up?”  “Keep an ear out for the nursling!”) 

Brian should prepare himself now.

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In honor of World Breastfeeding Week (don’t tell me that you all don’t keep track of when that is too…) I thought I would whip up a post about breastfeeding.

I have a unique perspective to share,

Because here’s the thing:

I sometimes hate it.

That’s right.

I KNOW that it is the best thing for the baby, and it is a terrific bonding experience…but it has never come easy to me and mine.

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Let me start out by saying that, if you did not / do not breastfeed your child, you will receive no judgment from me!  Some women cannot, some women chose not to.. bottom line is it is a HUGE commitment, and if you don’t think you can stick it out, then that is your choice.  No one else can breastfeed your kid. (well…kind of.  Let’s not go there mmkay?)  Basically your boobs = your choice.

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As for me, I have always struggled.

Cracked nipples (remember this post?! Ack!), clogged ducts, mastitis, stretch marks… yeah.  IF you had told the younger me all that my fun-bags would go through, I would have burst into tears. 

However, fear not, dear readers.  They are now like leather and I feel no pain (or any sensation at all.  If you know what I mean.)

My children have also never been really good at nursing.  They pop off, they bite, they stretch, they decide they are done just when my milk let’s down and squirts them in the face… It does not come easy.

With all of these trials, you would think that I would have turned to formula long ago.

At times I have held warm washcloths to my aching chest and eyed that free carton of formula they send home with you from the hospital (darn them!) longingly.

But, here is the bottom line:

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About once a day, there comes a breastfeeding session that is absolute heaven.

Isaac falls asleep while nursing, and I see a satisfied smile flit across his face.

There is no popping off or yanking, he just gets the job done.

Then, he lets go and snuggles up to my breast, milk dripping out of his mouth, totally satisfied.

I look at this mammoth baby and his dimpled knuckles, cleavage (Gaah!  Baby cleavage! couldn’t you just die?), and rolls.  And I think- I did this.  I have sustained him, by myself, for the past six months, and turned him into the fattest, jolliest little guy I have ever seen.

And then I absolutely love it.

And my little nursling too.

(mid nursing- popping off to see why in the world I am taking a picture at a time like this)

I shall call him Squishy, and he shall be mine, and he shall be my Squishy

 

(From “Finding Nemo”)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fireman and the Housewife

 

(Taken on my phone minutes after the following incident.)

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We all know that there are a few stereotypes about firemen floating around in the world. 

Namely, that they can father my next two children. 

Something about the whole danger-bravery-muscley-in-a-uniform thing.  Let's just say that, next to software developers (kiss,kiss Brian!), firemen are where it's at.  H-O-T.

The other thing about firemen is that just about every little boy, at one time in his life, wants to be one. 
Joseph is no exception.

The other day during one of our exciting expeditions  (Albertsons) I was thrilled to see a firetruck in the parking lot!  I grabbed Joseph (and Isaac, but really this was mostly for Joseph's benefit) and ran over to the truck so that Joseph could see it up close.

And, low and behold, there was a real, live, hose-wielding fireman inside!  Turns out that they can't leave their truck unattended (probably afraid that a housewife might try to stowaway) and one man is given the not-so-glamorous task of "staying with the truck."

So, out hopped the fireman with a smile and a child-sized firehat (for us to keep!) no doubt happy to break up the monotony and show Joseph around.  The lucky kid even got to sit inside and turn the wheel!

(two year old boy nirvana)

While Joseph fiddled around inside and/or stared at the fireman with a gaping mouth, the fireman and I (and Isaac.  just assume that he is strapped onto my body for the rest of this story) were left standing outside.

Now, I have to say that, as far as firemen go, this man wasn't particularly attractive.  Perhaps a 7 on the fireman scale of 10.  (The fireman scale, of course, being different than the average man scale- on which he would have rated a 15.)

And as I stood there next to average-looking fireman, I started thinking "Gee, he probably thinks that i am a lonely housewife who is attracted to firemen.  He is probably assuming that I am using Joseph as an excuse to strike up a conversation.”

At which time I -who finds silences to be painfully awkward and who is incapable of standing next to someone for more than 30 seconds without talking to them- strike up a conversation. 

(the “…..” in my conversations are horribly awkward pauses during which time I am panicking and trying to think of things to say.  the “haha”s are the most awkward, forced laughs that you can imagine.)

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"So, I bet you are a hit wherever you go." I say…. "Because of your cool truck." … ”Except for, you know, at fires…haha..."

That was my opening sentence to Mr. Fireman, who made some sort of a non-committal grunt.
I tried to recover.

"There is just something about a fireman."…”…To little boys, I mean…haha…Yeah, they just think that you guys are so cool."

At which point the fireman decides that yes, I am hitting on him.  With a baby strapped to my chest, no less.

He takes a step back, and fumbles around with the hose on the truck.

"You've certainly made our day" …"....because of my son.  Not me…haha…. He just loves firemen so much!"

My face is burning, and I am having what I like to refer to as diarrhea of the mouth(I am a classy broad).

At this time, I kind of black out (my mind trying to save itself from going through any further embarrassment), but I do remember commenting on the size of the hose (!!!), and something about men in uniforms getting a lot of attention.

I decide that it is probably time to make my exit.

"Well, thank you Mr. fireman, have a nice day!" I drag Joseph towards the store and away from humiliation. 

And my mouth decides to throw out a final "Be safe!" over my shoulder.

Be safe.

Sigh.

And then the crazy, hormonal, non-showered housewife went into the store.  To die.

I now go to Albertsons every day, just in case….

(just kidding Brian)

 

Pat, pat, pat.

 

I'm never really sure how to start blogging again once I've stopped.

Do I apologize for being gone so long?  But then, really,who am I apologizing to?  My readers have, no doubt, found something else to read.  As hard as it has been, I am sure that you have all survived without me.  So, then, it is just you and me, blog.  An artist doesn’t apologize to it’s canvas when it hasn’t painted for a while.  And, really, no one likes an “I’m sorry” post.  So, there you have it.  Apparently I am NOT sorry.

Do I make excuses? (3 trips to Oregon, 3 sicknesses for Joseph, a baby who does not like to sleep.)  Somehow other moms with 2 (3,4,5…) children find time to blog, so…?  I like movies more maybe?

Do I just try to communicate how very tired I have been (seriously, so tired.) and how, when you stack anything up next to the possibility of a nap (clean toilets or nap?  talk on the phone or nap?  fold laundry or nap? blog or nap?)  "nap" wins out every time.

How about if I just lay my head down on my keyboard for a moment (so, tired.) and you all pat my hair and murmur sounds of understanding, forgiveness, and general sympathy. 

Then, I will sit up with a sigh and a smile (still so tired, but look what a trooper she is!)  and continue on with my blog as though nothing has happened and I have never been gone. 

And you, my dear reader, will silently praise my strength and fortitude with every sleep-sacrificing blog post I manage to slap up here for the next 6 months or so. (until, I naively assume, Isaac magically decides that he CAN sleep through the night.) 

Sound good?

My head is down....go.

Summertime, and the living is easy….

 

 

Bet you were tired of staring at that pasta salad- no?

We have been busy summer-ing it up around here,

and I can hardly be bothered to sit in front of a computer.

I would much rather be sleeping during my kid-free time.

But I think that I am getting ready to come back.

Almost.

 

Pasta Salad: I wish I could quit you

(Am I allowed to make a Brokeback reference on what is largely a family-friendly blog?)

I have a recipe for you that will make you want to move to Idaho and become my best friend.
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I know what you are thinking- but really, the potatoes are SUPER awesome around here, and Idahoans aren't ALL hicks.  A lot, but not ALL.  And the salad is worth it.

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This heaping bowl of goodness was first made for me right after Isaac's birth by my good friend, Colleen. 
And we haven't been able to stop eating it since.
Seriously.

I am almost (if I wasn't so darn tired) willing to have another baby just so that Colleen will make me some more.

When I just started thinking about writing this post, I had to go to the store to get ingredients to make some more.  That is how strongly I feel about this pasta salad.
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It is also, almost definitely, the answer to the question : why do I still feel so chubby and pregnant-ish when my baby is 4 months old?
I'm sure that it has a gazillon calories,
But, you know what else has calories?
Vegetables.
And fruit.
And rice.
And chicken breasts.
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So, here is my theory:
  If I cut out all of that other “healthy” junk, and just eat this pasta salad, pretzel m&ms (yes.), and s'mores, than I will actually start getting thin....  ish.

I also have some crest-whitestrip knockoffs burning my teeth right now, so maybe my smile will be such a dazzling shade of white that it will blind anyone before they can look down at my stomach/hip/thigh region?

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Armed with those weight-loss theories, here you go:
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(This recipe came out of the Taste of Home magazine, but I don't know what it is called.  So, for all intents and purposes, it will hereafter be referred to as:)

This is Why My Pants are Unbuttoned Pasta Salad

-Boil up a package of cheese tortellini.  I choose rainbow pasta because color makes it look a little healthier to me.  It is probably actually the opposite (food coloring, anyone?) but there you go.Drain it and dump it into a bowl.

-Throw in a container of MARINATED fresh mozzarella balls.

-Add a can of olives

-Dump in a jar of MARINATED artichoke hearts, quartered.  (I break these up into little chunks so that I have one in every bite.)

The original recipe had chopped up orange bell peppers in it, and it was delicious.  But remember that vegetables = calories, so I would throw in a few more cheese balls instead.

-Stir it on up with some pesto sauce to taste (I use about 3/4cup)and a glug of red wine vinegar.

Let it sit in your refrigerator for a few hours, and serve. 

Take bites out of the leftovers any time you feel like you can't survive being a mom for another minute.

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I’ll meet you at the airport.

4 months

 

Alternatively titled: “HELLLLOOOOO Ladies!”

Dear Isaac,

Today you are four months old.

And a whopping 20 pounds!  (Average 9-10 month old…)

You are busting the seams out of your 6-12 month clothes, and settling comfortably into the 12-18 month size.

           

Could you slow down a little, please?  I love babies and you are getting so big so fast!

 

I took you to the doctor today.  You were so cranky last night (up. all. night) that I was convinced that you had an ear infection.

Not so much.

Just a little stuffy nose. (which makes you KIND OF a chubby little wimp…)

When you were younger, I would always tell people how GOOD you were.  It was one of the first things I would say.  “Oh, Isaac is SOOOO good/easy.”

Well, not so much anymore.

I love you anyway, you know, but let’s just say you are starting to “assert yourself.”  In other words, if you are not strapped to mommy, with a full belly, and being walked around following Joseph or being visually stimulated in some way… you are NOT having it! (read: crying hysterically)

Also, the sleeping through the night thing has gone out the window.  You, little smartie pants, have discovered- why sleep through the night when I can be fed every three hours* in the arms of my mother?

*or constantly from 3 am on, depending on how tired mommy is…

But you are a great napper.

And SO smiley.

And the cutest 20 pounder I know.

I love you SO much.

Now please start sleeping more.  A stuffy nose isn’t THAT bad…