Monday, December 6, 2010

The Best Word. EVER. Part 2.

As I was laying awake in bed at an obscene hour this morning I said to my husband, "I know what I am going to blog about today."

He replied, "My giant unit?"

I said, "Um.  No."

Instead, I wanted to tell you all what happened to cause us both to be awake at an obscene hour.  Don't worry, it is safe for my mother to read.... which she won't anyway so it doesn't matter.  There was a 4:45 am wake up call from Thing 2.  We both heard him, through our sleep induced trances, say, very clearly, "Dada."  Then he said it over and over again.  I am smiling now.  Yes, I am happy for my husband that our child acknowledged him....but what truly thrills me is when he chose to call out his name- at the "wee- hours-of-the-morning-attend-to-my-needs-now" call.  Muahahahaha.  Awesome!  Sometimes things actually do go my way!

Of course, there is a down side to this story. 

Thing 2 just turned seven months old.  He is perfectly healthy and has just the right amount of that redonk baby chub.  I had hoped to nurse him for at least nine months.  My nursing goal with both kiddos was to breastfeed at least to nine months but no longer than a year.  I felt comfortable with that, both for their needs and my own. Since infants up to one year are supposed to have formula or breast milk, nursing is clearly cost effective and (in most cases) good for the wee ones.  For me, I am not as much of an exhibitionist as some might think, and after awhile I actually like to keep my breasts inside my shirt.  Plus, if the kid can say "Hey mother, give me your boob"  or lift mom's shirt to self feed, I feel the innocence of the whole situation has been lost and I am no longer interested in participating.  No judgement to others- these are just my boundaries.   To try and make this incredibly long story short (I am pretty certain that I have now lost any male readers) Thing 2 is a biter.  Not just once or twice but multiple times.  And we aren't talking a little tiny mouse like nibble.  I am talking more along the lines of a Saber Tooth Tiger.  Strangely, such actions were making me rather anxious when feeding time rolled around.  Weird, I know.

The effect of the biting?  Formula.  And Guilt.  Only the kind of guilt that a mother..... or a Catholic can feel.  Currently being the first and formerly the latter, I have been thoroughly conditioned to experience GUILT.  Since there is no cure that I have found for feeling guilt, I will just do what I have always done.  I will obsess.  I will lose sleep. I will get through my days relying heavily on caffeine because of the lack of sleep.  I will stress my body into getting prematurely brittle. 

Function: n
: feelings of culpability especially for imagined offenses or from a sense of inadequacy : morbid self-reproach often manifest in marked preoccupation with the moral correctness of one's behavior responses originating in inner guilt and uncertainty

Synonym- Mother.


  1. Ok, you are freaking me out.

    Your Husband's comment re: his unit ... so what mine would say! Your remarks on Catholic Mother Guilt - that would be me.


    As usual, you are most entertaining. Thanks.

  2. :)
    Maybe our hubbies were separated at birth...

  3. I'd set my bfing goals about 3 months longer than yours. I'm hitting the "okay it's long enough" point next week. I am SO hoping I can buy formfitting shirts that can't be discreetly pulled up past the food source by next summer! On the other hand, Tessie's only up to two teeth, both on the bottom, so we haven't had that extra stimulation towards weaning yet...

    BTW, I hadn't checked here in awhile and you are providing me with almost an HOUR of hilarious time-wasting at work. THANKS!


  4. Imagine how many hours I waste in a day writing all this crap! lol!

    Thing 2 also has just two bottom teeth. Apparently he is completely committed to injuring me.