Failing NaBloPoMo on the first day really takes the pressure off for the rest of the month.
LET ME JUST GET THIS OUT OF THE WAY.
Penny was a duck/chicken (chucken?) for Halloween.
Do you love it? I love it. I love it so much that when we have her 6 month portraits taken this weekend, instead of being suckered into the “Holiday” backdrop they are pushing on me so hard, Penny is being a duck-chicken. A dicken. A 6 month old dicken.
I haven’t done Penny’s 6 month post yet, but here’s a brief synopsis: she yells, she’s pleasantly fat, she can roll back to belly and shriek mightily once she arrives there.
She has a test at Phoenix Children’s Hospital tomorrow, one we fully expect to come up negative, but we like making her miserable, so we’re doing it anyway. You should just have us arrested. We’re terrible parents.
Don’t worry about Penny, though. She’s never had good parents, so she doesn’t know any better.
You know, I haven’t been around here too much lately, and you know what it is? I’m enjoying spending time with my kid, which tells me that I’m finally starting to arrive in the time I’ve been looking forward to.
Noemi talked about this the other day, and I feel the same way – ending breastfeeding has really improved my relationship with Penny. Ending it was the right choice for us for a lot of reasons, and while I definitely don’t speak for everyone, it has really turned out to be extremely beneficial in a lot of different ways. The main one being, of course, that I actually ENJOY PENNY a hell of a lot more than I did previously.
With no struggling to feed her, no watching the clock for the pumping schedule, no washing pump parts, no waking up in the night to deal with any feeding-related activities — well, you know, it’s just better. Phil splits the feedings with me. I can leave the house without Penny and not worry about rushing back. I can leave the house WITH Penny and not wrestle with feeding her in public – like Noemi, nursing was never graceful or easy, positioning-the-baby-wise for me.
So, while I do believe that breast milk is certainly the best choice for a baby if it is available, not breastfeeding has been just about the best thing to happen to me since this damn wiener child was born.
A few days ago, Phil accidentally left the lid of the washer up with our bedsheets sitting inside soaking in fabric softener. He asked me if soaking too long in the fabric softener would ruin the sheets, but I wasn’t sure – mainly because in my entire life I’ve caught the rinse cycle in time to add fabric softener about four times, so I don’t have too much experience in the field of softening.
He put the sheets on the bed and made up the bed for the one time it gets made each week and I didn’t noticed anything until the next day, when the blankets were pleasantly running amok and askew, as is my preferred state of the bed. On my side, right about there my butt usually is, the fitted sheet had a different texture than the rest of the surface. On closer inspection, it was full of tears, kind of like a run in pantyhose.
“So, it looks like the fabric softener did ruin the sheets. It really seems to have damaged the more worn spots – I’m pretty sure we’ll have to throw these out.”
“Oh, that’s where your butt goes. Your butt must have put extra wear on the sheets.”
“No way! My butt didn’t — wait, can that happen?”
(You’ll understand that here, of course, I had a moment of insecurity – see: double pear, Two Butt – and, okay, I had a bit of a gassy pregnancy, but not any more gassy than – okay, maybe SLIGHTLY more gassy than the average person, but could that really RUIN the SHEETS?)
“Yep. Your butt put a weak spot in the sheets.”
“WAIT a second. If you flip the sheet around, this spot is where your disgusting, scaly MONSTER FEET would be.”
“Oh. Huh. You’re right.”
“But your butt finished them off.”
I’m planning something and it’s kept me pretty busy lately, and I expect it to keep me busy for a while longer yet. I’m pretty excited about it, but as with everything I do and cook, there is still the possibility that it will all blow up in my face or otherwise go terribly wrong, so I’m not quite ready to share all the details here yet. If it appears that all is going to go well with my small test group, I will, of course, let the rest of you know about it. Once danger of explosion has passed.
I hope it works out, though. It’s one of those things that I talked about the last time I got around to writing something here. One of those things that you think is something that only other people do, but it suddenly dawns on you that you could do it to, if you wanted to. So, aside from the silly stuff like getting married and having a baby, this is inarguably one of the “biggest” things I have ever done. And if it goes wrong, it will be the biggest thing I’ve ever fucked up. And if it goes right, I AM A HERO.
Well, not a hero. More likely briefly, but SIGNIFICANTLY AND SINCERELY celebrated. Which is probably as close to hero as I will ever get, unless someone who weighs very little needs to be awkwardly rescued from an extremely and freakishly slow burning building and there’s really just no one else at all around who can handle it.