I'm offended. I feel personally attacked. My boobs are supple and cushy. I've let you sleep on them when ever you want. I've let you destroy them, and pushed through the epic awfulness of breast feeding all in your best interest. I thought you loved my boobies. Studies suggest you have more brain cells now because of my ability to lactate. I've even got an interview for Mensa lined up for you next week. So why, now of all times, have you decided they are not good enough for you? Did they say something to hurt your feelings? Did they not put out like they were supposed to? Are you feeling upset that people keep calling you fat so you've decided to diet? What is it!? Please tell me, for the love of all things chocolate. WHY. WON'T. YOU. EAT!?
My child is on a boobie boycott. He's hatin' on the hooters. He's staged a munity against the melons. He's went union on me and is on a nursing strike. Apparently my son and Theresa Spence have been talking. Those who have never went through this anxiety filled, guilt ridden, absolutely frustrating experience are lucky. And those of us warriors who have fought the good fight and have been in the trenches deserve medals, made of coffee and chocolate dipped in a good nights sleep.
Let me tell you about the only two options I currently have for feeding my stubborn son.
1. Feed him normally, while awake -- when he is normally hungry. Here's the problem. He latches on just long enough for my milky way to start-a-flowing and then, "Psych! No thanks. I'm good." Off the boobie he goes, all the while breast milk is a sprayin' all up in his grill. Non-breast feeders in the group? Picture a garden hose, take a pin and poke it 17 times all around the hose. Now turn on the water... don't be shy, crank the knob. Ahhhh, has it been 30 seconds? Time to shut off the water. Did you just visualize my nipple? Good for you. Now it'll be all the more awkward the next time you see me in public.
So yeah, milk is dripping all over his face -- which he thinks is code for war (...I've learned he's a sneaky little bugger). I'll think he's going to latch back on, that we settled all our differences over the negotiation tables with the mediator, and that this cursed strike is over and and bah boom! Bite. Yes, we're still talking about my nipple. This is about the time that I tell my husband to take his son and I go and cry on the bed in complete frustration. But let's be totally honest, I'm absolutely loving all the advice I haven't asked for... He's biting because he's not hungry (...really? He hasn't eaten in 7 hours... tell me more about not having your medial degree..), he's teething, or my worst fear that maybe he's a cannible. Who the hell knows. All I know is that day time feedings currently run the risk of a sponatneous nipplectomy, so for now, these boobies have turned nocturnal.
2. Dream feed him. Interesting thing I've learned about babies, if you stick a nipple in their face when they're sleeping, they'll suck on it (probably true of most men too). They'll eat until they're full, and actually never wake up from their blissful slumbers. Alright, sounds simple... problem solved. Except, my son doesn't nap. Well he does, twice a day for all of 17 minutes...and 10 minutes of that time I'm bouncing him on a bloody exercise ball. So it's freakin' Mardi Gras at my place because my boobies are out for show and are literally bouncing around. But that only equals two feeds in a day, so I'm stuck feeding him all through the night. He sleeps the night away with a boob in his face, while I'm a topless zombie. I'm living the dream over here.
So the experts say it's a stage, just like anything with children I suppose -- and that it too will pass. But in the mean time I can't help but feel guilty for not being able to feed my child properly. Just incase you were wondering, bottle-feeding my child is also not a solution, I've made a commitment to breastfeed and I'm too stubborn to stop now (these boobies will not be defeated!). Yet somehow I've taken this hunger strike personally, and it's screwing with my mom-self-esteem and my sleep causing me to go into a perpetual hibertnation-so-I-feel-shittier-about-myself paradox. I get up in the morning, exhausted, feeling terrible about myself so I don't want to go out and face the world because the the mere idea of getting myself and the baby ready makes me tired. Not to mention that I don't have the energy to be fake and am in no mood to be judged. But then by the end of the day, it's 8pm, time for another all nighter and because I didn't go out and socialize with adults at all I now feel even worse.
We as Mom's get initiated into motherhood by having the word martyr tattooed right across our foreheads with invisible ink the minute we evict our baby from its cushy utero-apartment. There's something that changes in our DNA that makes us think that asking for help is a sign of weakness and incompetence. So we face the world with our Supermom mask on, pretending that everything is rainbows and butterflies. With the fear that if anyone really knew that...
-- you're bloody exhausted from getting up 6 times during the night,
-- your nipples are chaffing and leaking against your shirt as you speak because you're engorged from your sons disinterest in your tata's,
-- you opted for an italian shower in body spray over a real shower,
-- you may have forgotten to brush your teeth,
-- your 'breakfast' was a cup of coffee warmed up from yesterday,
-- you've had the same tank top on for two days and just put a different sweater over top, and...
-- you spent the last 10 days with tears streaming down your face as you try to breast-feed your babe feeling like a complete failure as a mother because you can't seem to feed your son properly,
... they would surely judge you, laugh in your face, tell you how much you suck and while you weren't looking call Child Protective Services on you because clearly you cannot handle being a Mom.
Well here's a newsflash. Everyone's life sucks. It's damn hard to be a Mom. No one has it all together. Everyone has cried. Everyone has foregone a shower. Everyone has wondered what the hell they got themselves into. Everyone still loves their child, but sometimes admits to not liking them a whole lot at 3:17 in the morning. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar, a fake, is just too scared to tell the truth, and is doing a disservice to mothers everywhere. When you say things are fine, when they're not... you're perpetuating the cycle of Perfect-Mommyness. Which FYI, is not attainable no matter how much you try.
Motherhood is a gift but it comes at a heavy price of trying to be everything to this little person you created, and learning to accept the reality of your imperfections. While I'm new at the game, I've learned something. Trying to be perfect is just a waste of time. I'll never be the perfect Mom. I'll admit it freely. So what. Who cares. I've truly stopped giving a shit what other people think about me, if you haven't yet.. you should try it. So there you have it, my son won't have the perfect Mom. But he will be loved. Loved more than any little boy has been loved before. That's all we as Mom's can do. Stop sweating about the crap, stop putting on the fake-perfect-mom mask when you go out, stop caring about what those mom's-of-orange-county-I-lost-the-baby-weight-in-2-weeks-and-still-had-time-to-curl-my-hair think, and just love your little monster for the sweet little baby they usually are. Because no matter how much being a Mom can suck, when those baby blues stare you straight in the eyes while his sweet baby hand pets your face like you're the prettiest girl in the world... it makes the shitty part of it all flush down the toilet with your tears reminding you that you've got this, you can do it, and that being this little guy's Mom is really still the best job in the world.
Note: There are many synonyms for boobies. Here are a few I couldn't work into the post but had to mention just for fun: titties, jugs, cans, gazongas, yabbos, knockers, fun bags, honkers, guns, bosom, honkers, bazookas, and watermelons.
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@naptimerambling
Let me tell you about the only two options I currently have for feeding my stubborn son.
1. Feed him normally, while awake -- when he is normally hungry. Here's the problem. He latches on just long enough for my milky way to start-a-flowing and then, "Psych! No thanks. I'm good." Off the boobie he goes, all the while breast milk is a sprayin' all up in his grill. Non-breast feeders in the group? Picture a garden hose, take a pin and poke it 17 times all around the hose. Now turn on the water... don't be shy, crank the knob. Ahhhh, has it been 30 seconds? Time to shut off the water. Did you just visualize my nipple? Good for you. Now it'll be all the more awkward the next time you see me in public.
So yeah, milk is dripping all over his face -- which he thinks is code for war (...I've learned he's a sneaky little bugger). I'll think he's going to latch back on, that we settled all our differences over the negotiation tables with the mediator, and that this cursed strike is over and and bah boom! Bite. Yes, we're still talking about my nipple. This is about the time that I tell my husband to take his son and I go and cry on the bed in complete frustration. But let's be totally honest, I'm absolutely loving all the advice I haven't asked for... He's biting because he's not hungry (...really? He hasn't eaten in 7 hours... tell me more about not having your medial degree..), he's teething, or my worst fear that maybe he's a cannible. Who the hell knows. All I know is that day time feedings currently run the risk of a sponatneous nipplectomy, so for now, these boobies have turned nocturnal.
2. Dream feed him. Interesting thing I've learned about babies, if you stick a nipple in their face when they're sleeping, they'll suck on it (probably true of most men too). They'll eat until they're full, and actually never wake up from their blissful slumbers. Alright, sounds simple... problem solved. Except, my son doesn't nap. Well he does, twice a day for all of 17 minutes...and 10 minutes of that time I'm bouncing him on a bloody exercise ball. So it's freakin' Mardi Gras at my place because my boobies are out for show and are literally bouncing around. But that only equals two feeds in a day, so I'm stuck feeding him all through the night. He sleeps the night away with a boob in his face, while I'm a topless zombie. I'm living the dream over here.
So the experts say it's a stage, just like anything with children I suppose -- and that it too will pass. But in the mean time I can't help but feel guilty for not being able to feed my child properly. Just incase you were wondering, bottle-feeding my child is also not a solution, I've made a commitment to breastfeed and I'm too stubborn to stop now (these boobies will not be defeated!). Yet somehow I've taken this hunger strike personally, and it's screwing with my mom-self-esteem and my sleep causing me to go into a perpetual hibertnation-so-I-feel-shittier-about-myself paradox. I get up in the morning, exhausted, feeling terrible about myself so I don't want to go out and face the world because the the mere idea of getting myself and the baby ready makes me tired. Not to mention that I don't have the energy to be fake and am in no mood to be judged. But then by the end of the day, it's 8pm, time for another all nighter and because I didn't go out and socialize with adults at all I now feel even worse.
We as Mom's get initiated into motherhood by having the word martyr tattooed right across our foreheads with invisible ink the minute we evict our baby from its cushy utero-apartment. There's something that changes in our DNA that makes us think that asking for help is a sign of weakness and incompetence. So we face the world with our Supermom mask on, pretending that everything is rainbows and butterflies. With the fear that if anyone really knew that...
-- you're bloody exhausted from getting up 6 times during the night,
-- your nipples are chaffing and leaking against your shirt as you speak because you're engorged from your sons disinterest in your tata's,
-- you opted for an italian shower in body spray over a real shower,
-- you may have forgotten to brush your teeth,
-- your 'breakfast' was a cup of coffee warmed up from yesterday,
-- you've had the same tank top on for two days and just put a different sweater over top, and...
-- you spent the last 10 days with tears streaming down your face as you try to breast-feed your babe feeling like a complete failure as a mother because you can't seem to feed your son properly,
... they would surely judge you, laugh in your face, tell you how much you suck and while you weren't looking call Child Protective Services on you because clearly you cannot handle being a Mom.
Well here's a newsflash. Everyone's life sucks. It's damn hard to be a Mom. No one has it all together. Everyone has cried. Everyone has foregone a shower. Everyone has wondered what the hell they got themselves into. Everyone still loves their child, but sometimes admits to not liking them a whole lot at 3:17 in the morning. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar, a fake, is just too scared to tell the truth, and is doing a disservice to mothers everywhere. When you say things are fine, when they're not... you're perpetuating the cycle of Perfect-Mommyness. Which FYI, is not attainable no matter how much you try.
Motherhood is a gift but it comes at a heavy price of trying to be everything to this little person you created, and learning to accept the reality of your imperfections. While I'm new at the game, I've learned something. Trying to be perfect is just a waste of time. I'll never be the perfect Mom. I'll admit it freely. So what. Who cares. I've truly stopped giving a shit what other people think about me, if you haven't yet.. you should try it. So there you have it, my son won't have the perfect Mom. But he will be loved. Loved more than any little boy has been loved before. That's all we as Mom's can do. Stop sweating about the crap, stop putting on the fake-perfect-mom mask when you go out, stop caring about what those mom's-of-orange-county-I-lost-the-baby-weight-in-2-weeks-and-still-had-time-to-curl-my-hair think, and just love your little monster for the sweet little baby they usually are. Because no matter how much being a Mom can suck, when those baby blues stare you straight in the eyes while his sweet baby hand pets your face like you're the prettiest girl in the world... it makes the shitty part of it all flush down the toilet with your tears reminding you that you've got this, you can do it, and that being this little guy's Mom is really still the best job in the world.
 |
| Yeah, he's got mad game. With that little smile, you can't help but love him ...even when he tries to bite your boobie off. |
Note: There are many synonyms for boobies. Here are a few I couldn't work into the post but had to mention just for fun: titties, jugs, cans, gazongas, yabbos, knockers, fun bags, honkers, guns, bosom, honkers, bazookas, and watermelons.
Like what you've just read? Follow my blog!
Look to the left of your screen, under followers (clever right?), sign up to become a member, and then leave me a comment to let me know I'm not alone out here on this limb :)
Are you on FACEBOOK (..common, who isn't)?
-----------> Click here to go to naptimerambling on Facebook! "Like" me and to stay up to date on all my posts!
@naptimerambling
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