Nursing

When M was 11 days old, she had to go to the hospital and we stayed there for seven days. When Doc B told me she had to go to the hospital, I said, "But I'm nursing her..." and he said, "Well, go with her."
So I did go with her.
And I didn't set her down for 7 days, except once each day to shower. I held her for 7 days. There was no one to help me at the hospital, I think, because I did not ask. I could not bring myself to ask for help holding my screaming newborn child.

I did ask that the nurses bring a bed into the room so that I could nurse M and sleep, and I hung out with her in the bed, nursing and sleeping for 7 days. My arms and head hurt and my back ached but I did not set M down. I held her to my chest, I propped her in my arms in pillows, and I cuddled her next to me.

I watched movies that Frank brought me:
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
A Christmas Story
Mr. Brooks ( I don't recommend this one at all.)
Disturbia (or this).

I read a huge variety of non-horrifying (i.e. one detective vs. one murderer) murder mysteries. I ate all the hospital food they would bring me, including snacks in the night. It still was Not Fun.

M had to have a spinal tap on three different days, with multiple needle attempts each time. They poked and prodded at her constantly, and she cried a lot. Even when I was holding her, she still cried a lot. She was little, and bright red and so hot all the time. I tried not to panic about the constant crying. I thought, one day, that I should just go home and leave her there. I stayed.

She did not cry when she was nursing. I nursed her as much as I could, and while she nursed, I would go to sleep. Then, eventually, she would go to sleep. Later, she would wake up and cry, and I would nurse her, and I would go to sleep...Occasionally, people would come into the room and wake us up, telling me that they were sure that I would suffocate her by accident.

I did not suffocate her. I nursed her.

Finally, they let us go home.

It seemed that M had gotten used to being held all of the time. That's how it seemed. And it also seemed that she nursed alot.

She never really slept through the night, and so I would nurse her. Maybe even 4 times a night. It never bothered me, and it never bothered her. She was so sweet at night. I was so sad when Big T stopped nursing that I knew I should enjoy this small stage with her while it lasted.

Little by little, though, we've decided that she can nurse less and less, until there has been just one nursing session left each day, one before bed.
On Christmas Eve, she was running around the room like a nut, laughing and giggling. Then she'd come back and nurse, pinch me, grin at me, spit a big mouthful of milk out, laugh and run away again. Giggle. Giggle. Pinch. Pinch. Even Big T was shocked at her behavior and he kept walking after her and saying, "Come back. Come back, Mydyeeuh, Come back and nurse." Then he and I sighed exasperatedly.
So, that's it. She's done nursing.
F gave her a cup of milk before bed last night. He said she looked like, "She knew something was different but didn't care too much." And then, after she was in bed, we went and had 2 glasses of wine each!
Tonight, I gave her a cup of milk before bed. I must tell you, there was a little bit of screaming and clutching at my shirt. She didn't drink any milk, but I walked her and patted her. I told her, "M, I'm gonna put you in your bed. It's okay, though, you'll be able to sleep just fine. I held you and nursed you for seven whole days once, because you needed it, and I'd hold you and nurse you for seven more, if you need it...It's just that, now, I'm telling you big peanut pie, you don't need it." And I plopped her down in her bed, put on her music, and she went to sleep.










And then T woke up. Isn't it ironic?

Fudge

If, while Frank and the kids are upstairs napping, I go ahead and eat all the fudge, that would be okay, wouldn't it?

I may have a sweets problem.

A Cookie Story

I have read some blog postings where others muse about the way they personify themselves on the blog they write, and whether these personifications are true to life, or if they represent themselves differently than they "really" are.

Here's who I really am, and my goodness, what a picture it paints:


On the way home tonight from work, I thought about all the Christmas cookies that were waiting for me, ahem, us, at the house.

As soon as we got in the door, I told T we were going downstairs to eat cookies and then we would have supper. Indirectly, I'm sure M heard about this, but my statement was really addressed to T. I'm still holding out many sweets for myself, ahem, I mean, holding out and not letting M eat alot of sweets, because she's just a baby.

I grabbed a ziploc baggie of spritz cookies and headed downstairs, T at my heels. When I got downstairs, I handed T a cookie. Then I ate some myself. He stared at his cookie, then he pointed at the bag. "Cookie." "Cookie.", he shouted.

I ate some more cookies while I pointed out that he had a cookie in his hand and surely he was going to eat that one first, before he got any others. He stared at his cookie dejectedly. I ate some more cookies, then I realized that his cookie was a sort of rectangular shaped spritz. I thought perhaps he didn't realize that it was a cookie. I thought perhaps maybe he mistakenly thought all cookies were round. I took his spritz and gave him a round cookie.

Not paying any attention to him, I popped his spritz into my mouth. I ate some more cookies as I realized that I was in the midst of a skirmish. T was pointing at my face and trying to climb up my leg. He was saying, "That's my cookie." "Mommy! That's my cookie." "Cookie." and still reaching and climbing to get at the rectangular spritz that I had already chewed and swallowed.

Thinking quickly, I looked down at the bag of cookies in my hand, pulled out a rectangular spritz, palmed it, and fake spit it out from my very full mouth of cookies. I handed him this whole and perfect spritz and he gratefully accepted it ("thank you, mommy"), but still he pointed at the bag of cookies, and said "Cookie." "Cookie." I looked down and the bag was empty.

I think he just wanted more than one cookie at a time. I don't know where he'd get that piggishness from.

Bling at 1 year

Miss M at 1 year.

They are very tiny, but you can see her little (and new) earrings.