Disclaimer: This one’s about breastfeeding and stuff, so if you don’t know what this is:
You should probably skip it.
The Baby is 8 1/2 months old. She’s chubbly and gurgly and I can’t stop touching her skin because it feels like a cloud made of angel fairy breath. She’s so cute it makes my teeth hurt. But also, she can be kind of
a punk challenge lately.
Take nursing, for example.
She used to be soooo sweet when she nursed. She loved it. Obviously. It was what she lived for. When she was a teeny tiny newborn, she would get this super-serious look on her face when she was just learning to nurse. She would concentrate so hard on this intense business of nursing that she would be completely exhausted after like five minutes and pass out into blissful baby sleep, leaving me with aching breasts who still thought they needed to make milk for twins. Then, when she was a few months old, she would wiggle around with delighted anticipation as we got ready to nurse and joyfully muckle on and go to town.
Now, nursing is a sporting event. Fun for her, not for me. She is a wily, twisty, ferociously unpredictable little beast. She bucks and kicks with impatience while I’m trying to get her situated. She acts like it’s an emergency that she gets the milk RIGHT THIS GODDAMN SECOND but then as soon as we start nursing, she decides to be incredibly interested in everything else going on in the room. Which is usually a lot, since her two big sisters bebopping around are the coolest things ever.
This is usually how nursing goes:
- Nurse for less than two seconds.
- Pop off violently and whip head around to check out the goings-on of the twins.
- Back to the boob.
- Pop off and let milk dribble/spray all over the place.
- Back to the boob.
- Pop off to grunt, wiggle, and try to commit suicide by leaping backward off the Boppy pillow for no reason.
- Back to the boob.
- HOLYSHITSHE’SBITINGMEOWOWOWOWOWWWWW! She doesn’t even have teeth yet. Lord help me when she does.
- Aaaaand we’re done.
So that’s been fun. And then, even though I feel like she hardly got any milk, I try to burp her. But holding still up against Mommy’s burp-cloth protected shoulder? Yeah right. That’s for amateurs. She would much rather head-butt me in the nose, grab me by the hair, and pull my face so close to hers that I think she’s trying to see inside my pores. I’m just sitting there admiring her, worshipping her chubbliness and thinking something like, Aww, she’s so cute! I think her eyes are still changing color and her little button nose is just so perf…and then: BUUUUURRRRRRP. With a little dribble of spit-up just for funsies.
I feel so used and abused.
She has some other new tricks to keep me on my toes lately too. She is constantly trying to get one of these:
In her mouth.
She’s all like, “Dogs!!! Yes!!! I love you guys!!! Get! In! My! Mouth!”
Which is exactly what the dogs say in their heads, only they substitute “unidentified lawn turds” and “gross-looking bugs” for “dogs.” So I obviously can’t be letting her get her little mouth involved with any of that disgustingness.
And then today, she went on nap strike. But she didn’t want to be awake either. She just wanted to be sort of pissed off all afternoon. Which I don’t understand at all. I mean, she’s not the one having her nipples chomped to bits and I would love nothing more in the whole world than for someone to put me in my bed and then leave me alone for a while. How is that not SUPER appealing to you, Baby? How???
But now she’s finally sleeping, pink-cheeked and perfect, and I’m already looking forward to snuggling my little baby beast when she wakes up.
That’s the kicker of motherhood, isn’t it? These tiny little dictators can do whatever they want to us and we still adore them, feed them, protect them, worry about them. It’s a powerful kind of love.