The Sprinkles Spectacular in 20...

I've waxed eloquent on the most estimable virtues of Hubbs, I've explored the non-complexities of my beloved Sass, and now it is Sprinkles' turn.

1.  She has the most perfect summer-sky-blue eyes.  They are even more startling when they are red rimmed from tantruming.
2.  She refuses to eat anything green and instead goes for the tubers and encased meats.  Girl after my own heart...
3.  She snuggles.  Oh Gawd, how she snuggles.  Sass always had a more "drive-by-wiggle" approach to parental contact, but Sprinks will snuggle in and SIT STILL.  Novel concept.
4.  She was one fat baby.  Ankle rolls, double wrist rolls, chest rolls, TRIPLE KNEE ROLLS!  She was the Michelin Man's chubby little cousin.  Delicious.
5.  She will probably be able to play basketball.  80th % in height all the way through.  I have no idea how this happened.  Hubbs is 5'7 (so he says on a good day) and I am an even 5'.  She is 16 months and wearing 2Ts.
6.  She has the most annoying shriek on the planet and she has started to experiment with "The Warble".  It takes a smart toddler to figure out the exact pitch and frequency to make ones neck hair stand on end like she can.  What can I say... the girl likes her attention prompt.
7.  *deep breath* Okay... I'm just going to say it.  As a baby, my daughter was terrified of anyone with skin darker than a saltine.  Hell... she was even afraid of our BBD (big, black dog) and we have no idea why.  It was particularly bad for us when we went grocery shopping.  You see, there was this wonderful "Cookie Lady" who worked in the bakery (she was the Jamaican Aunty I always wanted and I think she was Sass's first true love) and any time that sweet woman came near Sprinks, she would scream like she'd seen a giant, demonic green bean.  And it wasn't just the Cookie Lady... anyone who tried to touch her who wasn't blind-cave-fish-transparent got screamed at.  (The thing is, she had daycare providers of all nationalities, races, creeds, ect.  She interacted with these beloved folks daily and she still freaked the eff out allthedamntime in public.) I am happy to report that she is now over most of it.... most.  *facepalm*  It was always so great to be the family of blonde-haired, blue-eyed Whitey McWhitersons wandering around in public places with a baby that screamed at black people....
8.  She was a quiet, sweet infant... except for the colic and me never being able to put her down... for like, 6 months.
9.She beat some pretty ugly odds.  My baby girl formed perfectly in the womb, you see, but unfortunately  on the way out, she got stuck during a very dangerous part of delivery to get stuck in.  It was the very last part where the umbilical cord is compressed.... so.... they had to reach in and bend her clavicle around my pelvis which severely damaged the nerves in her right shoulder.  It's called shoulder dystocia and it is a long post for another time...  Anyway, her arm didn't work at all.  It just laid there with her little hand wiggling on the end.  It was the most disconcerting stillness.... This was not something she was ever supposed to fully recover from.  It was all talk of what "percentage of movement" she would get back...  But now it's her favorite arm to whack her brother with, and a good arm and hand to eat with, and a great arm to lift high above her head and twirl around like a ballerina with.  So take THAT odds!  Sprinks OWNED you!
10.  She would rather sign or make animal noises than talk.  She won't say "cat" but she will sure as hell "meow" when she sees one.  She likes to let us know who the boss really IS, and be damned if she's our little performing monkey....
11.  Pink and sparkles and that girl is happy.  She KNOWS she looks good...
12.  If it ain't chocolate, it ain't gonna happen.  Good girl.
13.  Brother is the funniest person in the world and she loves him fiercely.  Let me emphasize the "fiercely" part.
14.  She says "awwwww" when she hugs you.  Like we are all her teddy bears.  :)  Well, I am rather squishy....
15. It's dance parties everyday, all day.  If there is music playing or someone is singing then she is wiggling, twirling, bouncing, and twisting.
16.  She loves to get dirty.  Handfuls of garden soil, earthworms, and puddles... she is a pretty-in-pink kinda tom-boy.
17.  She learned to go up and down our 12-step staircase (our house would need that kind of program) at 15 months.  There was NO WAY brother was leaving her behind.
18.  If you are laying on the floor, you are fair game.  Deal with it.
19.  That temper!  Whoa!  When she gets all wound up, I am always surprised when fire doesn't start shooting from her mouth and eyes.  She's going to be fun when she hits puberty.
20.  She loves completely and she loves with an intensity and fervor that is beyond her years.  She lets us know everyday that we are hers.... without speaking, of course.  Speaking would just make it too convenient for Mommy.  ;)

That's right... just tell ME "no"....  In your FACE, Mom!

So there they are... my 3 life loves.  The people that I have met (or created, with help of course) who have changed my life for the better forever.  I am lucky to have them....


And don't worry, folks.  I'll go back to my less-than-mushy-self di-rectly...

20 Sass-tastic Fabulosities

Yesterday was all about the Hubbs love so today will be about Sass Monkey's awesomeness   (I eeney-meenied on who would go next... Sass or Sprinks?)  Here we go!

20 Sass-tastic Fabulosities

(never enough though, sometimes, it is...)

1.  He has one, irresistible dimple.  He used to have two but the other one couldn't handle all the cuteness  and ran off.
2.  He was my first everything baby.  His pupation gave the word "discomfort" a new meaning and has subsequently lead to a total redefinition of such.
3.  He is always up for a little chat.  Morning, noon, night, 24/7, AND on Sundays... even in his sleep.
4.  He says "hangburger" and "intersteak" instead of "hamburger" and "interstate".  We don't know why these words have never evolved into their proper incarnations ... and we don't care.  I hope they NEVER change.
5.  His snuggling is powerful.  I mean, deep tissue bruises when he's done.  You KNOW you've been snuggled by the Sass Master.
6.  He sasses constantly.  "No Mom!  Actually.... I don't want dat.  I SAID I wan dis!"  "Mom you are siiiiilly."  "Don say Dat!"  My bad, yo.  ;)
7.  When he was a baby he would eat anything.  Ground up meatloaf and brussel sprouts were his first big boy meal... and he was 5 months old.  He loved solid food.
8.  Well, he will eat anything... except whipped cream or icing.  When he was just over a year old we went to our favorite Mexican restaurant for lunch one day.  Thy had the most wonderful Sopapillas...  Long story short, I gave him some whipped cream to try which he promptly vomited into my hands.  He was standing in the booth and retching loudly so that everyone eating could get a good look.  It was a texture thing.  We didn't go back.
9.  He has NO FEAR.  He will climb and jump off of anything.  Last summer, he was launching himself off the adult diving board at the pool with absolutely no regard for life or limb in nothing but Wal-mart water wings... and we had to argue with him to even keep those on.  He was barely 3.
10.  He tells his teachers and friends at school things like "I shoot dem and den da blood commed out."  Out of context we must sound like ax murderers, but it was hunting season and we had been up at the cabin processing this year's kills.  He was just giving them a blow-by-blow...
11.  He is a tiny little furnace that pours sweat as he sleeps.  As a newborn, he would sweat through his little rabbit shirts and leave wiggly little stains on the crib sheet.  Freaked Hubbs and I out.  I still have to change his sheets more often than normal because all that boy sweat can get a little pungent.  It's like a stinky Slip-n-Slide in there...
12.  Spiderman EVERYTHING!  You gotta appreciate a kid with a full blown addiction.
13.  He looks just like me... and I am going to make one good looking man.  :)
14.  He tries to argue logic when he doesn't have any.
15.  He adores his little sister.  They roll around pinning and sitting on each other while screeching with delight.
16.  His favorite food is broccoli.  I have no idea how this happened.
17.  He loves everybody.  He will have conversations with complete strangers and then fist bump them on the way out.  Hugs all round, folks!
18.  He has learned to poot-attack.  In fact, most of his funny repertoire involves gas right now.  I would blame Hubbs for this, but I know better.....
19.  He has set the crazy bar pretty high for Sprinkles (or any others that may come after).  Hubbs and I find ourselves using the phrases "Well, why did you do that?" and "Why did that seem like a good idea?" quite a bit.  He is VERY creative.
20.  Hugging that twitching ball of energy is like hugging happiness itself... it feels gooooood.

He was the excitement and non-stop action we never knew we didn't have.  Life with Sass will never be dull... or quiet!  ;)  My baby boy, my first born, and my party non-planner!

Don't try to fight it... He'll shoot you with his Lasers of Cute!

20 Reasons....

With the Official American Love Day fast approaching, I decided I would dedicate this week's posts to my loves.  First up is Hubbs....

 Hubbs is the Bomb-Diggety 

(a short and incomplete list)

1.  He takes out the trash and the Diaper Genie WITHOUT being asked.  He also transports aforementioned Diaper Sausage of Death to the trash cans outside. Also without being asked. 

2.  He says "You're sexy when you cook." even though I look a wilted, hot-mess while leaning over a stove full of steaming pots.

3.  He cried manly-style while reciting his vows.  He actually wrote our vows and most of the wedding service.  The preacher who married us asked to keep a copy to use for other couples in the future.  It was amazingly good.  Pablo Neruda, people.  Pablo Neruda.

4.  Last night, while I lay impossibly entwined with a heating pad on the couch,  he said "I know you are in pain.  I'll change her diaper." and took Sprinks upstairs for a hose-down.  Now, he may have said it sarcastically, but I don't care.  That man is brilliant.

5.  He never backs down.  Ever.

6.  He gets angry when I'm right and then tries to change the subject.  It's cute.

7.  He is a Master Griller.  Steaks that will make you smack yo' Momma.

8.  He dresses better than I do.  He also dresses ME better than I do.

9.  I can still embarrass him in public.

10.  He lived with my crotchety, smelly, piss machine (a.k.a. my cat) for 12 years.  And he's allergic.  That cat hated everyone but me.  She was awesome.

11.  Good genetics.  Gawd we make some pretty babies.

12.  He's crazy smart... and smartass.  

13.  He's healthy and loves to work out.  It gives me something to aspire to... or at least something to watch.  ;)

14.  He just grins and bears it while I loose my sh*t for a couple of months after giving birth.  Tough cookie.

15.  He has "The Daddy Finger".  Apparently, his pinky is the perfect size, shape, and consistency for sucking to sooth a colicky baby.  Sass preferred "The Daddy Finger" to his paci for quite some time.  They would sit for hours together, Hubbs snuggled up in the chair, with Sass contentedly sucking away... and quiet.

16.  I can't gross him out.  He has cleaned up my vomit, inspected infected owies,  and been present at both births.  He's seen everything.  The second time 'round in the delivery room he actually asked me if I had pooped Dark Matter in front of all the doctors and nurses between pushes.  Dat's a keeper, right der.

17.  He doesn't complain when I watch Finding Bigfoot.  :O

18.  He works HARD.  He knew what he wanted and he fought for it and now he is Hubbs, Esquire.  (Did you know attorneys can't call themselves Esquire?  You can only call others Esquire.  Law is weird.)

19.  He personally designed my engagement ring and chose the stones at a local jewelers'.  He had them reinforce the prongs because, and I quote, "Well, you are probably going to bang it on stuff.".  Or you're clumsy.  :)  He was right....

20.  Sometimes I will catch him just quietly watching me... and it still makes me blush.  :)

There are many other reasons, of course, that Hubbs is da Bomb-Diggety but it would be completely inappropriate to list some of them here as my family does occasionally stumble up to take a gander.  ;)

Over and out.  Tee-hee.  (I said "over"...)

Give him what he wants....

* It is a nightly requirement/staple/charming family tradition that Sass gets to watch a show of his choice (e.g. Octonauts or Little Einsteins) before book and bed.*

Earlier this week, I told Sass that, if he watched too much TV, it would make his brain feel bad.

(Yes, yes... I lied.  But the boy had been laying on the couch, cracking out on Disney Jr., for the last 4 days while down with the flu.  He felt better now and his little butt needed to get some play on!)

So a few days later, I got this...

Me: "Okay honey, let's turn off the TV.  It's time to go read a book."
Sass's eyes went wide as blue willow plates as they begin to fill with crocodile tears.  "No book, Mommy.  I want Wittle Einstiens!" he waggles his finger at me, capturing my hand position and expression perfectly, "I want Wittle Einsteins, but no book!"
Me:  "Nope.  It's time for bed.  Let's go."
Sass:  "No, no NOOOOO!  I want my brain bad, Mommy!  I want my brain bad!"  The tears begin to resemble Niagara Falls.
Me:  *blink* "What?  You want what?"
Sass:  "I want one more Wittle Einsteins, Mommy!  I want my brain bad!"

Heh... okay buddy.

Wordless Wednesday... Bedtime

Bitten by the Love Bug... and a few other things.

     Ah yes... February!  The most misspelled month of the year!  The month of LUUUUV! (Yeah, because we all love sleet, freezing mud, and drippy noses.  Nothing says love like a kiss that leaves a slime trail.  I dub thee "Snail Kiss".)  Time to buy crappy valentines for my kids to hand out in class and shave my legs (because that is my Valentine's gift to my husband.  It also works for Christmas.)  Let's all let Hallmark dictate our affections and prepare ourselves for the delicate nibble of the Love Bug.

     Wait.  Ew.  Bug bites usually aren't sexy.  Have you ever seen chigger bites?  Not pretty.  And they are especially not pretty when the bite you in your *AHEM* love bits.  (Note:  Never sit on a fallen log in the woods in the summer.)  And who gets all hot and bothered over a mosquito bite?  Well, not THAT kind of hot and bothered, anyway.  They sell creams for that.

     As I contemplated this "Love Bug" concept during a few quite moments on my car ride to work this morning, I eventually (and quite predictably) ended up going a very different direction.  "Ug.  Bug bites aren't sexy.  Geeze, I have had tons and none of them ever "revved my engines".  You know, I have been bitten by a bunch of stuff and I can safely say that these bites did nothing for me in the britches department."  This train of thought lead me to a mental list that I thought I would share with you.  Because.

SHIT THAT HAS BITTEN ME

(or at least gummed me harshly)

(that I can remember)

      Dog – Never seriously.

Cat  - That’s how they show love, right?

Wild Rabbit – More scratched all to hell, really.  I kept trying to pick him up…  J

Horse – Fingers, apples… what’s the difference?

Field Mouse – Guess what!  They don’t like to be trapped in a ball-cap and heavily petted!  Who knew?

Water Snake – Through a bug net.  Hey... don't judge... I used a net!

Fence Lizard – Cute but vicious…

Anole – And they sell these blood thirsty heathens at Pet Smart and advertise them as “Great pets for children!”

Toddler – no surprise there...

Husband – Definitely NOT self defense.  J

Sister – Because they are evil.

Random small children – I used to work at a pre-school.  'Nough said.  I have also had 8 kinds of ringworm. 

Various spiders - *shudder*

Wood Beetle – On the boob in my bed!  The audacity of it!

Baby Snake of Indiscriminate Parentage – I just wanted to snuggle.

Horned Toad – They don’t ALWAYS fall “asleep” when you turn them on their backs.

Baby Ducks – Don’t let all that sweet, yellow fluff fool you… little effers have teeth! 

Calf – Fingers and bottle nipples are very similar in consistency.

Box Turtle – I am the only person EVER who has been bitten by a box turtle.  They just don’t bite.  The   pediatrician didn't believe my poor mother when she tried to explain why her daughter had a nasty looking bruise on her stomach at my 3 yr old check up.  I expect a file was started…

Gerbil – Spawn of Satan

Killdeer – But the babies are so CUUUUTE!

Blue Bird – In MY defense, I thought she was unconscious.

Skink – Didn't see that one coming….

Crayfish – Pinched, really…

Catfish – Only noodled once.  Never.  Again.

Chipmunk – Strangely enough, they don’t like being caught in ball-caps either…

I just need to stop grabbing sh*t, huh?

So yeah, lots of bites but no surging passions or ripped bodices.  That Love Bug is a dirty liar.

These are actual "Love Bugs".  
Yeah... NOT SEXY!

:)

*I was not raised in a cave or by wolves.  I was raised to be curious… and to be good buddies with the Neosporin.*

Just put a big, red "X" on our door...

     As the second wave of contagion obliterated my household this weekend, I began to wonder, would we actually make it out alive?  What or Who had I/We pissed off?  And What or Who did I need to kill to set this right?  Because that was the level of my desperation,  folks. I was at Kill Level 3.

     What was supposed to have been a sweet, little snow day turned into a 4-wheel drive trip to the pediatrician for a diagnosis of pink-eye with a side order of flu.  Eff, eff, eff, eff, eff, eff, EFFFFFF!  Wait... I don't feel so good, either.  Damn it.

     Sass Monkey went down so hard the couch has a permanent sweat stain in the shape of a miserable little super hero on its cushions.  And to put the cherry on top of his not-so-fun sundae,  his charming baby sister (who, by this time was totally put out by the fact that brother bear wouldn't play with her) performed a waddle-by-whacking, and bruised up his one working eye with a plastic play phone while he lay immobilized by disease.

     Mommy and Sass ended up spending most of the weekend together on the couch while Daddy dutifully and masterfully corralled the screeching heathen beast (a.k.a Sprinkles).  She had lost her mind, you see, because her personal wrestling partner wasn't capable of anything more than sitting up to sip water and whining.  What a fun-suck, right?  Daddy really took one for the team.  When Sass would have intermittent periods of activity due to the Ibuprofen lie (You know... they feel better but aren't better?) it was as if he was trying to make up for lost time, wreaking havoc and getting out all the toys with small parts before petering out and joining me back on the "Stinky Couch".  You see, he felt well enough to move but was cranky enough to make Daddy's eye twitch.

All in all, it was a great time.  I love effing flu season.  And now it's Daddy's turn to succumb, poor guy.

     Btw, have you ever tried to put eye drops in a 3 year old's eye?  Had him begging for mercy like we'd put thumbscrews on him!  I have used them before (I am no stranger to the Nasty Eye.) and I know they don't hurt but the cold droppy sensation just sent him right on over the edge.  We almost have to peel him off the ceiling when we go to get the drops out of the cubbard and no amount of bargaining, begging, or pleading makes it go any smoother.  I will say that Daddy has better luck with him than I do, but then, Daddy also has more patience.  And empathy.  And is nicer.  Basically, he is just a better parent.

     Any tips (other than hog-tying) for getting drops into their eyes with the minimum of flailing and wailing?  Really... we are desperate here.  Cookies aren't working because he doesn't want to eat so their goes my back up plan....

Blogging in a word... or several..

Alright folks!  It's Theme Thursday!  I like these.  Jenn from Something Clever 2.0 has asked that we write about "Blogging" and, oh how ironic, but by setting this writing goal, she has also relieved one of my biggest bloggy fears...  What the hell do I write about now? 

So Pop On Over!

But on to blogging and what I think about it...  

Blogging is...

Release.  I can mentally vomit on "paper" instead of squeezing little necks.  This is good because I would totally be someone's bitch in prison.

Blogging is...

Connection. The fastest way to get to know someone.  Ever.  I know that bloggers only share what they want, but you can tell so much from their writing styles.  Moods and temperaments are made clear through a few key strokes.  (Heh.  I said "stroke".  Wait... that wasn't funny.)  Knowing that others can read you too is very ... freeing.  We are valued for our thoughts; not our shoes.  No one can judge you when they can't see the snot trails down your shirt on your underboob where you can't see them.  And then you walk around ALL FREAKING DAY like that and nobody says a damn thing!  Why didn't anyone tell me?  

Blogging is...

Community.  Mom Blogs, Fashion Blogs, Political Blogs, Pet Blogs, Travel Blogs, Poetry Blogs... the list is endless.  You can always find SOMEONE who gets their jollies the same way you do or someone who has gone through things that you are dealing with.

Blogging is...

Affirming.  You are not alone.  WE are not alone.  This is not abnormal.  I know how you feel.  It IS really hard.  You can do it!  Me too...

Blogging is...

Educational.  

"Help!  My child is possessed by the devil and I don't know what to do!"  

"Little Johnny only wants to eat boogers and Spongebob Mac 'n Cheese.  What do I do?" 

 "Does anyone know how to get poop out of a silk scarf?"

A bloggy friend will always have the answer.

Blogging is...

Humbling.  Yeek, oh gawd I need to work on effing spell check and my comma usage is abysmal.  Where my Chicago Manual of Style?  I really am not as funny as I think I am.... *sigh*

Blogging is...

Centering.  Who am I?  Really?  Oh hey, a record of my brain listed by month and tagged by insanity.  It's an encyclopedia of me.  Hmmmm.... maybe not a good idea....  :)

Blogging is the death of the small town mindset.  No one is weird.... or we are all weird.  "No Man is an island".  Truth and self-accountability abound (cause it's all in black and white... or white on black...).  I matter.  You matter.  We all matter.

Yeah, I like it.  I like it  a lot.

That low-down dirty creep, the Flu...

     And here I thought we'd missed it.  I'd seen all the blog posts about the illness and contagion oozing its way across the states so I sacrificed a goat , burned my incense (all metaphorically, of course), and I thought we had missed it.  You know what they say about counting chickens... boo.

     Queue a 103.5 fever, snot like I have never seen (and hope to never see again), croupy cough, aaaand barf.  My poor Sprinks went down for the count and Mommy got a flu-cation.  It's not like a vacation AT ALL but saying "flu-cation" makes me feel better about it.  I hate when my babies are sick...

I learned many things while on my 2 day journey of Uncensored and Unstoppable Baby Orifice Self-Expression.  Things like:

1.  Boogers are like Tribbles.  Endlessly multiplying and in everything.  I was totally a red shirt...
2.  Dinosaur chicken nuggets are INFINITELY more appetizing than the regular ones.  The regular ones will get you screamed at.
3.  Children's Ibuprofen should come with a hip-flask of "medication" for Mommy.  I'm just saying, oh holy makers of Advil and Children's Motrin...
4.  All toys are sucky and boring when you are sick, but the breakables in the one cabinet in the kitchen that you have ignored for 6 months are the bees knees.
5.  I can no longer watch whatever I want in front of Sprinks.  She totally got Twilight and would point at the screen and say "Doggie" while clapping and laughing every time she saw a werewolf.
6.  My baby is on Team Jacob.
7.  3 out of the 5 "Yo Gabba Gabba" creatures look like sex toys.
8.  I hate "Franklin and Friends" almost as much as I hate Caillou.
9.  Don't leave vomit laundry unattended with dogs around.  It's like drunk sex with an ex... no one will be able to make eye contact later. *shudder*  What was I THINKING?
10. Flu poop should be classified as "cruel and unusually stink punishment".  Get on that Pentagon.  It had our Diaper Genie begging for mercy in no less than 26 seconds.

But now we have emerged, blinking and stinking, on the other side with the bright rays of an un-predigested sun shining down upon our grateful faces.  Until Sass gets it, of course... boo two.

Hands off the goods, lady.

     When Jen from Something Clever 2.0 announced that the next topic for this Thursday Soirée was going to be Breastfeeding, well, I just had to add my 52.5 cents.  I will caution you that my… uh… feelings, opinions, intense emotional outbursts on this subject may shock, awe, and even offend.  I will use words like “milking” and “Nipple Nazi”, so those of you who may be squeamish or belong to La Leche League may want to click off for now and go someplace fuzzier....

     I will start by saying that I DID breastfeed both of the wigglers.  Sass for 8 months and Sprinks lasted a whole 3.  Being gifted with Holstein like Mam-bags I felt obligated to at least try.  While preggo with Sass Monkey I researched a bit on the subject but didn't worry about it too much.  I had spent a lot of time on a dairy farm as a child, if I could get a calf to suck, couldn't I get my own to do the same?  It’s all about instinct, right?

WRONG!

     Fast-forward to being induced a month early because my water broke.  Then through an 18 hour labor and delivery where the epidural gave out at the most crucial time (like, for most of it).  I spent hours cursing, sweating, pushing, and begging for someone to just please reach inside and pull the little sucker out because that was the most painful thing I have ever endured (and folks, I have had horses FALL on me, if that puts this in perspective).  So there I lay in the post-partum room, still a bit in shock, with this tiny, HUNGRY creature screaming at me from a bundle of blankets nestled in my arms.  Hubbs and I could only sit and stare.  Well, I guess I should try and feed him?  Let’s whip one of these suckers out and take ‘er for a test drive!  Aaaaaand we stalled in the driveway…

     No milk?  I had no milk!  How was this possible?  They had gotten HUGE!  Oh wait!  Drip…  That’s.  IT?  Freak out time!

OhmygawdhowamIgoingtofeedhimandwhatiswrongwithmeandIamgoingtostarvemybabyandIamsuchaterriblemother!

     My husband (who had researched lactation, latching, and feeding holds to the Nth degree as always because "an attorney never enters the courtroom unprepared") assured me that this was normal.  He’s so good like that.  "Remember… Sass came a month early and this was my first.  My body just wasn't ready yet.  Maybe his tiny sucking muscles weren't fully developed?"

And enter Lactation Consultant stage left… the sinister side…

     "It’s okay!  This is a natural process and the best choice for your baby!  Let’s try this!"  She proceeded to grab my already cracked and bleeding nipple in her icy claws and squeeze it flat while shoving it into my enraged son’s mouth.  At this point, the boy was really hungry and this stranger who smelled of Purell and False Advertising didn't help.  For the rest of the day Hubbs and I milked, cajoled, and teased only a few precious drops from my abused and terrified mammaries (Me-effing-dela) while the Nipple Nazi  would continue to “pop in and out” to check on our progress.  Cheerily.  It most certainly wasn't the four courses the boy was looking for so he continued to scream. 

   
     This went on for 2 effing days.  "Oh, he'll be fine!", she would coo, "They don't actually need to eat for 72 hours after delivery!"  Basically...let him starve sweetie, it's your fault he's not eating anyway.  Did she at any time acknowledge that he was a preemie and may not have been strong enough to latch?  Did she consider that my body might not have been ready yet as he has emerged a full 4 weeks early?  Did she take into account that stress keeps your milk from dropping?  She did not.  She only ever so politely suggested that to give in and give my baby boy a bottle of formula would most definitely ruin him for life.  He would never latch!  He would never like the taste of breast milk!  I wouldn't bond with him as quickly!  Nipple confusion!  My body needed to be forced to produce! 

Bull-effing-sh*t.  I wish I’d known then what I know now.  And I swear... if I EVER see that... that woman again....

     At the end of day two Hubbs and I conceded a temporary defeat and fed Sass some Similac but we felt awful about it.  Or I felt awful.  I felt I had failed as a mother and as a woman.  My husband knew the truth you see, but I just wouldn't or couldn't listen because my raging insanity/hormones were holding my rational hostage (for like, years).  Formula isn't the devil.  Sass’s brain would be fine and develop normally (Well… as normal as possible).  We would all bond and my milk would eventually come in and it would all be OKAY no matter what.  But good luck telling me that because society tells us that “if you can’t do X then you can’t be Y” and I had bought that crap hook, line, and sinker.

   With Sprinks I had milk in time... I just had given birth to a baby piranha   She latched on like the world was gonna end 20 minutes after she popped out.  She sucked and she sucked... and ... oh gawd that hurt and ...  Holyjezusandchristonacracker she ATE a piece of me!  Sucked a chunk of nipple clean off and then puked up a belly full of my blood.  Yeah... unsettling doesn't cover it.  It took weeks to heal.  I gave her 3 months and then we were done.  By that time she was getting more Nystatin than milk anyway as we had a never ending case of Supa-Thrush.  We be a thrushy people.

     Now, I am not saying that you shouldn't try breastfeed  even if the going gets tough.  If that’s what you want then go get it… just don’t stress yourself out if things don’t go as planned.  I was wracked with guilt for weeks after the birth of my first about my “failings” and all it did was make it harder for my milk to drop.  Breastfeeding, in the beginning is hard, bloody work.  But it can also be wonderful.  I still miss snuggling up with my babies and watching their eyes glaze over in sleepy ecstasy as their little bellies filled.  It was something special that I could do just for them…. But it is not the end all be all.

It is NOT the only way to bond with your child.  Daddies don’t lactate and seem to do just fine.

It doesn't make or break your woman-ness.

     It isn't the only way to feed your child.  I refuse to believe that formula companies would mass produce poison and charge you $24 a canister just because they want to kill babies.   I don’t believe that they are out to get your kid.  In.  Any.  Way.  (Just your money).I also know that formula has saved the lives of thousands of children… if not millions… around the world as an easy food source for babies whose mothers are in dire straights health-wise.  And what about those lactose intolerant children?

Colostrum is important and helpful but not a necessity.  Not these days.

I will end this rant with something I tell everyone who either feels guilty about not doing it or goes all Red-Star-Regime about it:

My husband was exclusively formula fed.  I was exclusively breast fed.  Who’s the attorney with the crazy high IQ?  Well it ain’t me, folks.

Now... you want to read the good stuff?  Then head on over to here and read some top notch material on THEME THURSDAY hosted by the oh-so-talented Jenn from Something Clever 2.0!