Today in baby music class, which is held outside in Central Park during the summer, a boy picked up a broken piece of glass and chucked it at me, flying by V's giant noggin and hitting me in the arm. It cut me a little and bounced off.
I picked it up and saw it was a piece of a broken beer bottle. The boy smiled at me and ran off. The nanny rushed over and and apologized. I said, "he picked up this piece of glass." and she said, "yeah from over there."
Dear nanny: I meant for you to instruct the boy not to pick up glass, not to tell me where it's from.
Dear boy: fuck you. You little shit.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Boobs
I wasn't really able to breastfeed V. For reasons that are unknown to me, a woman's milk does not "come in" and populate her breasteses until day 3 or 4 or perhaps even more days after birth. Which really sucks for the hungry baby, who is sucking the shit out of an empty balloon.
My milk did not come in until day 5 if you count the day on which V was born. I woke up one day and I had BREASTS. Not breasts. BREASTS. By that time, V had already lost over 10% of her weight, coming in just above 5 lbs, and her pediatrician said formula was a must. I tried breastfeeding until V was 6 months old, but if you supplement with formula in significant amounts as I had to, it's a losing game. Your body will make as much milk as the baby takes, and so if the baby is not breastfeeding exclusively, your supply drops. By the end, I was pumping for 2 hours to produce 3 ounces of milk, when she was ingesting 24 ounces, sometimes more, of formula a day.
A lot of kids who are breastfed really like boobs. Because it's a source of food, and comfort. They pretend to breastfeed their dollies, and grab at their mommies' boobs when they are hungry.
I didn't think V would be in that camp since it's been a good 5 months since she has really seen my boobs, since I usually remain clothed around her. But as of a couple weeks ago, she has decided she wants to see them. All. The. Time. She is constantly peering down the neck of my shirt. I feel like I'm in high school again. If she can't see, she starts tugging. If I'm wearing a tank top, she can pull my shirt down, and watch out if I'm wearing a bra, because she will start wailing on that shit.
The other morning she woke up way before I was ready to, so I got her, plopped her in my bed, grabbed her foot and fell asleep. I woke up because she had pulled my shirt all the way down to my stomach, and was pinching my boobs. Good morning, weirdo.
It was funny until she tried to do it at the park yesterday in front of a guy parent. It's hard to keep smiling and look nonchalant as you are wrestling the front of your shirt away from the iron grasp of a little chub.
Mock turtlenecks from now on.
My milk did not come in until day 5 if you count the day on which V was born. I woke up one day and I had BREASTS. Not breasts. BREASTS. By that time, V had already lost over 10% of her weight, coming in just above 5 lbs, and her pediatrician said formula was a must. I tried breastfeeding until V was 6 months old, but if you supplement with formula in significant amounts as I had to, it's a losing game. Your body will make as much milk as the baby takes, and so if the baby is not breastfeeding exclusively, your supply drops. By the end, I was pumping for 2 hours to produce 3 ounces of milk, when she was ingesting 24 ounces, sometimes more, of formula a day.
A lot of kids who are breastfed really like boobs. Because it's a source of food, and comfort. They pretend to breastfeed their dollies, and grab at their mommies' boobs when they are hungry.
I didn't think V would be in that camp since it's been a good 5 months since she has really seen my boobs, since I usually remain clothed around her. But as of a couple weeks ago, she has decided she wants to see them. All. The. Time. She is constantly peering down the neck of my shirt. I feel like I'm in high school again. If she can't see, she starts tugging. If I'm wearing a tank top, she can pull my shirt down, and watch out if I'm wearing a bra, because she will start wailing on that shit.
The other morning she woke up way before I was ready to, so I got her, plopped her in my bed, grabbed her foot and fell asleep. I woke up because she had pulled my shirt all the way down to my stomach, and was pinching my boobs. Good morning, weirdo.
It was funny until she tried to do it at the park yesterday in front of a guy parent. It's hard to keep smiling and look nonchalant as you are wrestling the front of your shirt away from the iron grasp of a little chub.
Mock turtlenecks from now on.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Sleep
This morning, V woke up at 5:40 am. I heard her on the monitor, and saw her sitting up. I turned down the volume and tried to go back to sleep--come on, it was not even 6 and I went to sleep at 2. But she started shrieking, so I stumbled into her room and dragged her to my bed, where she pulled my hair, kicked me in the face and ribs and threatened to fall off the bed while I tried to go back to sleep. Finally, at 6:30 ish she fell asleep in a little squishy heap in the middle of my bed. Leaving me wide fucking awake. Babies are glorious.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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