Wild Wednesday

I am starting "Wild Wednesday" because Jude and I have been watching a lot of nature shows, and I find myself completely enthralled by some of the creatures out there. Jude is, too...in his way. He likes the colors and the sounds...watches for a bit, then turns to me and smiles, then watches again. Perhaps I am raising an animal enthusiast.

Today's installment belongs to the female Strawberry Poison Dart frog, because she is not only beautiful, but is also a very good mother (and I LOVE her blue legwarmers).



Watch and smile... :)

Who has been slightly exploiting the fact that her son can say "mom" at 2 months old? Certainly not me. In fact, I do not tell anyone who will listen or brag a little bit about it either.

I have not singlehandedly eaten an entire container full of Christmas goodies, nor have I been known to sneak and smuggle even though there is no one around to catch me. Such a heinous act. Tut-tut.

I do not giggle when my son notices the television, and I do not think it's even funnier when he zones out while staring at it. I make sure to put a stop to his TV watching right away, and I definitely don't change it to Spongebob just for him. Uh-uh.

I do NOT allow my son to sleep in his Boppy pillow because he will not sleep in his crib. I do not have the Boppy pillow so rigged up that it is the perfect bed, and he does not sleep like a dream in it.

I am not even ashamed.

Nope...not me.

Stealth Poop and Momma Fail...

Let me just start this post by saying that I am really a very good mother. My child is happy and healthy, very intelligent and well adjusted. He knows his needs will always be met...I am at his beck and call. 3am, and I have a bottle warming. He even looks like he is gonna poop and I am warming the wipes. Snuggles and songs and books and conversations are a constant thing. I dance like a fool for him (which seriously frightens the dog and various other people who catch sight of this ritual), I make up stupid songs for him, I love him so much my heart hurts...

But...

All mommies screw up sometimes, right?

8-/

Yesterday was a nice, calm day. Jude had been going through a growth spurt which made him cranky and hungry and just plain miserable, but yesterday? He was lovely. Didn't say boo...napped like a champ.

At suppertime, he sat with us in his baby chair and looked around happily. I jiggled the kitchen lamp so that he could watch the light patterns on the ceiling, he talked to himself and played with his toys.

After supper I fed him and he fussed a little. No big deal.

At around 9pm, I decided to change his diaper and put him down for the night, and what did I find?

Poop, that's what.

Poor little man had been wearing a poopy diaper for who the heck knows how long. I didn't smell it. I didn't see him scrunch up his face and turn red (pooping is usually a production). But, there was definitely poop. I apologized profusely as I rocked him to sleep and felt like a terrible mother.

Jude, thinking that his mother sucks.

But, today was the real momma fail.

Jude came to Walmart/grocery store with us for some last minute Christmas shopping. He loves his carseat, and usually sleeps the entire time we are out...including the transfers from car to cart, etc.

Well, we were out too long, I guess (epic fail #1) and he woke up hungry. I had decided to wait with Jude in the car instead of hauling him into yet another cart, so when he began crying, I jumped into action and grabbed the bottle we'd brought along just in case. Jude took a few long, hard and very relieved draws on the nipple and then let go and screamed louder! What the heck? Then I realized...the formula was cold (epic fail #2).

So, how do you warm a bottle in the car when the car is not running and you are wrangling a very angry, snowsuited infant? You shove it in your cleavage. And, when that doesn't work because your boobs are just not what they used to be, your armpit. Uh huh. I so did it, and it worked. I love it when success comes out of failure.

And while I am confessing...I have been known to help Jude to suck the thumb he very dearly wants to suck. He can get his hand there no problem, but he always forgets to stick out his thumb. So, I stick it out for him and he munches away.

Yes, I am an enabler.

Sue me.

*Siiiigh*

Babylegs!!

I just couldn't wait, so Jude got a pair early...



Oh my. Something about encasing those little frog legs in baby legwarmers makes my heart sing.

Flipper-pits...

Aside from being a wonderful pseudo-swear word...("Awwww, Flipper-pits!")...it is also the part of a manatee's body from which its young feed. Apparently, they have nipples in their pits! What could be more awesome?

The Sarcastic Fringehead has been replaced for now. Manatees are now banging their pudding-noses on my funnybone, and have subsequently nestled deeply into my heart.



Someday, I will go to Florida to swim with them. I have no desire to swim with dolphins. Dolphins are like the popular kids. If they were people, they would be cheerleaders and floutists...flitting from place to place in giggling groups. Living out loud.

Manatees would play the tuba. They would be the overweight, funny looking, far-from-graceful bottom-feeders silently sitting at the lunch table closest to the canteen. Much more intriguing than those who live out loud. What is your secret? What are you into? Who are you, really?




To all the manatees out there, (human and not), I love you. :)

He's like the wind...

Slices of Life (and Christmas is Coming!!)

As I sit here, there is a chubby-cheeked baby on the bed beside me. He is talking to himself, flirting with everything he can see and trying to eat his fist. He is 8 weeks old now, which means:

1) Sleeping through the night almost every night.
2) He can now suck his thumb and put his own soother back into his mouth (mostly backwards).
3) His hair is starting to fall out, and what is coming in looks decidedly lighter.
4) He looks more like me.
5) His hands are stinky ALL the time because he is always putting them in his mouth (and I can't stop sniffing them because they smell lovely to me...)
6) He naps in his boppy pillow.



7) He can polish off 5 ounces of formula and still want more.
8) He flirts with EVERYTHING.
9) He says "mumumum" with intent, now...when he wakes up, or when someone else is holding him and he turns his body toward me, scrunching his face up, imploring me to take him back.
10) He is cuter and cuter every single day.


Oh, how I love this child.

The past few weeks we have been competing with Siberia in the "holy-shit-is-it-ever-cold" category. Then, last night the wind started coming from the south and it's gorgeous. I wandered outside at 1am and the temperature was climbing. It had snowed a little, but smelled like rain. The air was almost balmy and I could smell the trees stirring awake...as though surfacing momentarily from a long, deep sleep.

I did all of my Christmas shopping online this year, and I am really happy with what I bought. I did much better than I would have if I'd had to hit the stores with a baby in tow. I especially love my purchases for Jude.

I got 4 pairs of Babylegs:


Not only are these adorable, but they keep those chubby legs warm while making diaper changes easy as pie.

I also purchased the Twilight Turtle so that Jude always has stars. It makes a bedroom into a universe, and when the child is older can be used as a night light. :)



I went a little crazy buying onesies from Threadless.
(Ooooh, onesies. Be still my beating heart...)

So, whether he knows it or not, Jude is going to have a great first Christmas. Complete with several embarrassing Christmas outfits. ;)

Merry Christmas to all... :D

Gratuitous

Riot Gear

Wake up
Put on my riot gear
But in the study of my house
I've got a smoking jacket passed to me from Grand Daddy
It's made of bow and arrow meat

Do do do do do do
Do do do do do do

Come home
Take off my riot gear
Put on my smoke jacket
But in the library of my house I have a laugh
Medieval jokes are just as funny now
If you've got a degree

Heaven help the ones who know
What makes the world go slow

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock

The night comes
Time to go on the town
And in my best
Sashimi dress
And marble arch supporting shoes
I am a vision in my horse-drawn tank

Da da da da da da
Da da da da da da

Stay out
Drinking into the night
And they are saying those same things
And I'm like "Ha, ha, ha, hee, hee, hee"
'Til half-past three
And then it's time for me to go

Heaven help the ones who know
What makes the world go slow
What makes the world go slow

Come home
Take off my tuna dress
Put on my collard greens
And in my sleep
What dreams may come
Before I'm woken by alarms
Put on my riot gear

Regina Spektor


(I am really into this song right now...yum...)

Remember this?

*swoon*

For the past 2 weeks, I have been re-watching this show during Jude's latenight feedings. I'll admit that I really got into it, and even thought about sneaking upstairs to watch more when Jude WASN'T eating a few times.

Seriously...who is more awesome than Dean Cain? And Teri Hatcher as Lois...bang on. The special effects leave a lot to be desired, but heck, it was 1995, and I spent just as much time giggling over what passed for a bolt of lightning back then as I did smiling over the incredibly sweet love story.




I will leave you with the age-old question:




...Clark Kent or Superman?

:)

Megaira

Upon awakening,
she unfurled into a fury.
An owlish grudge against the sun
brought forth a pointed,
poison-tongued,
wild-winged frenzy.

Snarling, hissing snakes of hair
would not be calmed.
Only shrieks brought solace
to those infernal,
hungry mouths;
though fire-bellies smouldered still...
beneath the crimson carnage
of scorned flesh and scaly,
wind scorched
winter skin.

And soon, a gentle silence lost itself,
as a pitter patter (flutter-slither)
clattered visciously
in a sun-warmed kitchen...

as an unasked for morning
birthed an illegitimate afternoon.

~M.R

This is an elderly poem. I am putting it here simply to remind myself of where I was 4 years ago...the miserable shell of what was once a human being.

I vow to never find myself surrounded in that darkness again.

*The image above freaks me out. What in heaven's name happened to her...um...girl parts? *shiver*

2 in the bed and the little one said...

Well...he doesn't say much, really.

The occasional accidental "mumumum"...and "hah-GOO!"...and lotsa "waaaaaaah"ing when he is tired but thinks he isn't. But, that is beside the point. This post is not about how much my 7 week old son talks...(even if he IS brilliant) (I mean, really) it is about co-sleeping, and our nocturnal goings-on.

This kid has had sleep issues since day 1. He is so alert that asking him to sleep would be like asking me to roll around in the snow with just a bathing suit on. Wait. I have done that. Bad example.

Put it this way: Sleep, to Jude, is R-I-D-I-C-U-L-O-U-S! And mommy is T-I-R-E-D. In the best of ways, mind you. Somehow I cannot be upset when naptime, for example, looks like this:




He cracks me up, my little dude. But, at 3am, it starts to get a little less funny, and a little more wearing.

Recently, bedtime has been a wrestling match between willful baby and exhausted mommy. I don't even have to tell you who wins. Baby is in his crib dozing by 10pm, awakens at 10:10, mommy obediently trots in to soothe, etc ( because I am not of the "let him cry it out" philosophy), baby dozes again, mommy sneaks out, baby awakens at 10:21, and so on and so on and so on.

And don't even get me started on the calamity that ensues when I try to sneak in to go to bed myself. ("Mumumum...waaaaaaaah...")

As a result of all this, about a week ago I started invouluntarily falling asleep mid-feeding and Jude realized that he REALLY (REALLY!) likes sleeping on my chest. A lot. More than in his lovely crib. Or his cradle. And then, in an effort to get some peaceful shut-eye, I began putting him to sleep on my chest purposely, and loved every second of having him so close...(a far cry from when he was first born and I was terrified to hold him at all, lest I hurt him)

Boy, did I feel guilty. What a terrible mother. I mean, cuddling my baby to sleep and then extending that cuddle all night? Diabolical! Lulling my son (and myself) into a 6 hour, restful snooze? Evil!

I felt so bad that I shamefully googled co-sleeping, and you know what?? A lot of people do the same thing in an effort to get some rest! In fact, some people do it just because they melt at the the feeling of a limp little bundle of sleepiness tucked against them. It is kangaroo care at its finest. There are even studies that suggest co-sleeping in any form promotes normal breathing patterns in infants, effectively reducing sleep apnea. Because, while co-sleeping, a baby and his/her mommy are in perfect sync...the baby imitates mommy's breathing patterns and his/her temperature is regulated by mommy's, provided the baby is in a sleeper without a blanket. So, yay!

The funny thing is....after a week of having my little fella wonderfully close at night, he has begun sleeping like a champ in his crib. No muss, no fuss.

So, that's that.

(and boy, do I miss him...)

About Time...

Look what finally happened...




Yay!!

Animal Farm...

We live in a George Orwell novel...

1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
3. No animal shall wear clothes.
4. No animal shall sleep in a bed.
5. No animal shall drink alcohol.
6. No animal shall kill any other animal.
7. All animals are equal.

Around here, these commandments are broken repeatedly. The dog has more outfits than I do, and the animals clearly sleep in the beds. The cats hunt the denizens of the backyard (especially those with wings), and Squeaker (the elderly matriarch) beats on Rory (the youngish upstart) frequently.

The only thing they don't do is drink alcohol. But if we let them, they would.

Pretty soon they will be walking on two legs and morphing into creatures more like human beings.




If they decide to take over, we are royally screwed.

Oh boy...

If this child ever decides to be bad, I will be helpless. Could you yell at him?





I know I couldn't.

Talking Colic

Colic is one of those words that just doesn't look right when it is typed or written out, which is very fitting really...because let's face it. Colic just isn't right at all.

Take my son, for example.

The child has a beautiful disposition. He first smiled when he was 3 days old, and just hasn't stopped. If there is such thing as a happiness prodigy, Jude would be one.

His first 3 weeks could not have been better. Most of the day was spent napping...waking at intervals to eat, grin, play for a bit, etc. Perfectly normal, except...when he was awake, he was extremely alert. Too alert for someone his age. Overstimulation would occur after every waking period and he would require me to calm him down before he could sleep again. I thought nothing of it and simply enjoyed the low-key snuggles he needed as much as he did.

When he turned 3 weeks old, things started to change. At first, he stopped napping...and if he did go down for a nap, his arms would eventually flail and he'd startle himself awake. He was eating badly, too...screaming during feedings, wanting to cluster feed when he wasn't even hungry. All of this seemed to stem from a sudden inability to soothe himself. He'd attempt to soothe on my breast or the bottle, and would get angry because he'd get unwanted milk.

Then the night-time tantrums began.

At first, he'd begin screaming inconsolably at around 8pm and go until midnight before he'd exhaust himself enough to sleep for a few hours. After these episodes, he would wake up happy...eat like a champ, then pass out again. However, it got worse and worse...to the point where he had begun crying all day, and then until 2 or 2:30am. He was nearly impossible to calm. I walked and walked with him...bouncing him, patting his back, making soothing noises. If I was lucky, he'd fall into a fitful sleep for a few moments.

I was shell-shocked and sleepless...desperate to understand what was happening with him so I could help him. His extreme distress made me feel helpless...and like the worst mother to ever disgrace this universe. Was it my fault? Did he hate me? Did I hurt him when I picked him up? Did I scar him for life when I put him down?

Just when it was at its worst, and I was at my most desperate, I put him into a Snugli in an effort to get something (anything!) done. He fell asleep and stayed asleep. I was even able to transfer him to a cradle, where he slept a good 2 hour stretch.

It made all the difference in the world. The secret to my son's displeasure was sleep. Hands down. And once I knew that and could con him into naps, he started sleeping earlier and earlier at night. He only cries when hungry or wet, and even then very fleetingly. But if, for some reason, his routine gets too broken...watch out.

A child Jude's age NEEDS sleep, or he or she will become so overstimulated that screeching for hours is the only outlet they have. It's not like they can go hide in a quiet room and read a book...or punch something...or go for a run to let off steam. So it builds and builds until it is impossible to contain.

I am lucky. Most people never figure out how to deal with their child's colic, and end up spending 3 to 6 months battening down the hatches at 6pm...just trying to survive.

For anyone who happens across this post because they are losing their minds and looking for something (anything!!!) to help them, I am going to link a few sites I found useful. And, if you want to share your story, please do.

Colic and Sleep
Fussy Baby.ca

The story so far...

More Mads

Wordless Wednesday

Ow...

Fact Fiction-- (Mads Langer)

Imagine a world without me - say you're falling apart
Let's pretend you've missed me for a while
Wouldn't you say you were lonely and love was breaking your heart?
Put on your Sunday best and fake a smile

I dream of dreaming dreams of her - in twilight she's a constant blur
The picture is clear and I'm still fact she's fiction

Remember the night you were with me - fell asleep by my side
Strangers together - your hand in mind
How come we never came closer when all the stars were aligned?
I thought we had a moment

I dream of dreaming dreams of her - in twilight she's a constant blur
The picture is clear and I'm still fact she's fiction
I seem to miss the missing part, she's still my favorite work of art
The picture is clear and I'm still fact she's fiction

Nothing has changed cause I'm still fact - she's fiction
Or I may be imperfectly formed in this contradiction

I dream of dreaming dreams of her - in twilight she's a constant blur
The picture is clear cause I'm still fact she's fiction

I fell in love with her longing - let's just say that she never found out
Who it was she never found in me

Just about sums it up...

Have you anything to say in your defense? by Cesar Vallejo

Well, on the day I was born, God was sick. They all know that I'm alive, that I'm vicious; and they don't know the December that follows from that January. Well, on the day I was born, God was sick. There is an empty place in my metaphysical shape that no one can reach: a cloister of silence that spoke with the fire of its voice muffled. On the day I was born, God was sick. Brother, listen to me, Listen... Oh, all right. Don't worry, I won't leave without taking my Decembers along, without leaving my Januaries behind. Well, on the day I was born, God was sick. They all know that I'm alive, that I chew my food...and they don't know why harsh winds whistle in my poems, the narrow uneasiness of a coffin, winds untangled from the Sphinx who holds the desert for routine questioning. Yes, they all know...Well, they don't know that the light gets skinny and the darkness gets bloated... and they don't know that the Mystery joins things together... that he is the hunchback musical and sad who stands a little way off and foretells the dazzling progression from the limits to the Limits. On the day I was born, God was sick, gravely.

The Sarcastic Fringehead...

In my next life, I would like to be one of these guys.






I find them almost as funny as I find hippos...(and, I rarely laugh as hard as I did the time I watched a documentary featuring hippos) Sarcastic Fringehead! Best name ever.

A description:

The sarcastic fringehead - Neoclinus blanchardi - can be found in the waters of the Pacific Coast from San Francisco down to Baja California. Though the Fringehead is a small fish, rarely reaching a foot in length, they are known to be quite aggressive, even swimming after divers. Their native habitat is empty shells and small caves or burrows - though they are often observed living quite comfortably in discarded beer bottles and soda cans. Milton Love, noted fish biologist and author of "Probably More Than You Wanted to Know About the Fishes of the Pacific Coast" has this to say about the fringehead:"Sarcastic fringeheads are occasionally taken by both sport and commercial fishermen, and when this happens, no one is completely comfortable. The fish tend to be cranky and the fishermen tend to be nervous. I have seen very rugged commercial fishermen, men who laugh in the face of danger, doing fairly amusing little dances while a 6-inch-long fish clamp sharp teeth around their thumbs."

and this one:

These fish are found along open coastlines on sand or hard mud bottoms , outside the breaker zone in depths of 3-73 m (10-240 ft ). They live in various kinds of shelters , such as empty clam or snail shells , abandoned burrows, and cracks in clay or rock outcroppings. They also find human trash such as cans and bottles satisfactory as a home worth protecting. Whatever the shelter used, a sarcastic fringehead claims it as its home territory, fiercely defending it against intruders. The larger the container , the larger the fringehead occupying it.


These fish give a whole new meaning to coveting someone elses stuff. Imagine if that was our way of dealing with the real estate market. You like someone else's house, so you just...take it. Sarcastically. With a really grumpy look on your face.

I could get into that.

Hope you are as amused by these guys as I am. They even have their very own poetry cave. ;)

Sarcastic Fringehead Poetry Cave

A milestone and a mystery...

4 weeks ago yesterday, I gave birth to a slippery, wiggly, gnome-like creature...


And, he is SUCH...

a baby... :)

I can't say I am going to miss these newborn meltdowns, but...is it wrong that I think his cryface is adorable? He looks kinda like a Klingon. Except...cuter.


My little Klingon is growing so fast, and I have to admit that I am having mixed feelings about it. I mean, I brought this little boy home:


And he has been replaced by this one:



How did THAT happen???

Happy 4 weeks, little man. Sure do love you.

The La Leche League can kiss my...ummm...nipple.

Like all new mothers, I want to do what is best for my baby. We listen to classical music together (while I whisper sweet nothings into his ear about maybe someday playing the cello). We dance together and he falls asleep in my arms. We "kangaroo cuddle", I sing to him, I read to him...recite poetry...play with him with educational toys.

He is thriving. It is beautiful to find a roll of chub that wasn't there before. I kiss his knee-rolls and his frog belly...nuzzle his chubby cheeks and nibble his toes. He can already self-soothe, lift his head for fairly long periods of time. Sometimes he stares at me from across the room, and then grins at me when he sees me coming. He sleeps 5 or 6 hour stretches a night and wakes up perfectly happy...wearing a diaper that would even frighten a dung beetle. His hand to eye coordination is already ridiculous.

I know nothing of newborn narcolepsy. My kid was born 3 months old, and aside from the fact that he occasionally cries inconsolably as though it is the end of the world, this motherhood gig has been the easiest and most instinctive thing I have ever done.

Except for one thing. And, at this one thing, we are both utter failures.

Breastfeeding.

*shudder*

When he was born, they asked me if I wanted them to put him on my chest. I, of course, wanted nothing more. 9 months is a long time to wait to meet the greatest love of your life, and the moment had finally arrived. There he was...all covered in goop. So perfect, so beautiful, so...hungry. They asked me if I wanted to nurse him a bit, so I first put him to my breast when he was mere moments old. He wasn't a natural, and it took a bit of work that evening to get him to understand that my breast was a food source...the BEST possible food source. But, he eventually latched (a perfect latch, I might add), and all was well...for a few hours.

He soon discovered that I did not yet have any milk.

See...nature plays a few cruel jokes on mothers. Early breastfeeding is the cruelest of all. Crueler even than the fact that a baby's head is very rarely birthable without tearing, even though women have been birthing babies since there have been women. Crueler than the fact that after you have been torn to shreds and can barely walk, your baby needs you. Badly. More than he ever will in the future. Those first few days are prime bonding time, and when you cannot even get out of bed, well...*flips Mother nature the bird*

But the worst is having a ravenous baby and having only a few beads of colostrum to feed him. You feel like a failure. Your baby is STARVING...for the love of GOD you can think of nothing but feeding your baby. The hungrier he gets, the more he cries. Then he becomes furious. You keep offering the breast, because what else can you do? He sucks until his cheeks cave in and gets only a couple of drops, while the formula fed baby in the next room sleeps contentedly.

Then, if you are really unlucky, your baby will develop jaundice. You are told that your baby needs liquid to flush the jaundice out, but are encouraged to continue breast(starving).
Now, I am well aware of the fact that breast milk is the very best thing your baby could possibly eat, but when your baby's eyes turn yellow, the last thing you want to do is watch them go more and more yellow as you fight through nursing...errr...starving a very ticked off baby.

I gave my baby a bottle because his agonized crying made me cry. He gulped that bottle down in less than a minute and I felt relief for the first time in days. I had done my job. My baby was fed and happy.

But...

Breastfeeding started to wane. He was more and more frustrated by the breast and its slow delivery. I had taught him instant gratification and he didn't want to go back to struggling for every stinkin' drop.

We lasted until the evening we got home from the hospital, and then there was a frantic formula run. I told myself that he would only eat formula until my milk came in fully. I figured that since my boy wanted instant gratification, I would pump...increase my milk supply until it flowed fast enough for his liking. I was told this was an impossible dream...that he would be on the bottle forever and ever AMEN...but I kept pumping. Eventually, I was pumping enough milk to feed him bottled breast milk all day long. No more formula, no more guilt.

The boob? It seemed to go the way of the Tasman booby. He would not take it, no way, no how. This went on until his one week birthday. We were visited by a public health nurse who told me to try again.

I scoffed, chuckled, rolled my eyes. I told her there was NO WAY. My son? He hates boob. Loathes it. And then I pulled out my breast and offered it to my son.

He latched. And ate a full feed.

*bangingheadondesk*

So we breastfed, and it was wonderful. My baby was eating the way nature intended. Not only was he getting the most perfect nourishment possible, we were skin to skin...bonding in ways that are impossible otherwise. He began grasping my finger as he fed...grabbing handfuls of my hair...gazing lovingly into my eyes...

And then I began to make too much milk.

You would think that is a good thing, but it is actually worlds of badness.

My baby...my darling, sweet child...turned into the devil. He screamed through feedings, sounded like a drowning piglet while he ate, and the spit-up...OH MY GAWD the spit-up. It was unreal. He developed infant reflux and started to become colicky. He needed nose drops because he kept on vomiting through his nose and the dried vomit was clogging his sinuses and affecting his breathing. In order to sleep, he needed to be on a 30 degree incline so he would not overflow...

So, I have admitted defeat for now. He is officially a bottle-fed baby. Breast milk at night, and formula during the day until I can get my milk supply back up and it can be all breast milk, all the time. (It had gotten to the point where he and I were both crying during feedings, and my milk was drying up due to stress).

This decision comes with a lot of guilt, though.

In the hospital, there were posters all over my room about breastfeeding. The nurses barely talked of anything else. "How is he doing with breastfeeding??" they would ask, even though they should have been asking themselves if he was maybe just a little bit TOO yellow. I was made to feel awful for even considering giving my son formula while in the hospital and the public health nurse gave me stink eye when I told her about our initial foray into bottle-feeding and urged me to try again.

I feel like I must justify myself when even the formula container says:


(Don't even get me started on how ticked off the discovery of the little ditty above caused me to be. Why the guilt? WE KNOW!!!!)

Thankfully, motherhood is entirely instinctive. And, as instinctive as it is to put your baby to the breast, it is also instinctive to stop putting your baby to the breast if it is causing harm.

I will keep telling myself that while I enjoy my happy, healthy, vomit-free baby.

(A couple of links for anyone who wants to read some of the propaganda... ;)

La Leche League

Breastfeeding Committee for Canada

Delightful...

*swoon*

This charmed the heck out of me today.I liked Meryl Streep before this...thought she was an amazing actress. But now? Now, I think she is brilliant. :)

The ties that bind...

Today, my son's umbilical cord is hanging by a thread.

When I first brought him home, I could not wait for it to fall off because it made me nervous. I was terrified I would accidentally hurt it, or it would get infected, or it would get caught in his diaper and I would pull it out. The mere thought made me squirm, so I figured that the sooner it came off, the better.

Now it is an ugly stump. It looks like a bellybutton booger...an eyesore on his otherwise deliciously chubby belly. And...I don't want him to lose it anymore. It is the last obvious sign that he was once part of me. Inside of me, eating what I ate, borrowing my blood and oxygen and nutrients.

It all boils down to the fact that he is already growing up. First it's the cord, and suddenly it is teenaged angst and bellybutton rings.

*sigh*

Right now he is in his crib, awake. I have put on a CD for him...baby arrangements of the classics. Fur Elise, Panis Angelicus. We both have gooseflesh. I, because I am not ready for the newborn stage to be over. Him, I think, because he is discovering music on the outside...unmuffled, beautiful and perfect. I know it's not because he is afraid to grow up. He is alert, looks directly at things...and he smiles. Real smiles...not the newborn patented "Heheh...I just farted" crooked grin. Open mouthed, bright-eyed smiles.

I know I should not worry, though...he will always be my son. Even with a bellybutton ring...

The Sun Tells The Moon

no, don't want the world
yeah, cause you'll wanna have everything
and don't say that you're just a little
more deserving of this or of that
yeah, cause we've all got needs
but I know you feel trapped.
yeah, but we all got gravity

oh no, we're lost, the stars they just stare
yeah, and it's driving me crazy
the planets don't care
yeah, they prefer they didn't know
me cause I'm just a means


yeah, they all want ends and the comets just sing
you can even hear them coming

we sing the saddest songs cause we don't know what we want
we want more and want it cause we're scared to say it

we are the children's lips thirsty for just a glimpse
of what is right and wrong because
we can't accept our lives.

so the sun tells the moon
"yeah you should've been a star"
the reply is a tune
oh but the sun just stops
saying "oh that's so sad but im glad I heard it
you moons aren't so bad"
and they just kept on spinning.


~The Snake The Cross The Crown

Baby, you rock my world...

...you really, really do.