Mah Dirty Bewbies

I yelled at my husband tonight because I am a douche bag*. I am seriously frustrated at just about everything for no apparent good reason. It's probably just the hormones. We need to talk about breastfeeding before I cut someone. Egg is still nursing up a fucking storm, yo*. I finally got my first postpartum period less than two weeks ago. That's right, bitches. Just a few days shy of a whole year of no ragging*. I'm damn happy about that, let me fucking tell you. What that means for those of you that haven't nursed in every possible location in southern California for a year is that Egg is still getting 95% of his daily caloric intake from mah bewbies. And yes, I do realize that for some people,*  nursing full time does not stop their Aunt Flo from visiting. I got lucky, I admit it. On the other hand, I am at the point where I would like for Egg to eat some damn food already. Food that does not come from mah nipples.

My goal in breastfeeding was to nurse until Egg's first birthday. After that I wanted to continue if Egg and I still wanted it. I did not expect to pass Egg's first birthday (Jan. 20) still nursing around the clock, literally. A good night is when Egg wakes up every 3 hours to nurse. I don't even want to talk about a bad night. But the thing is, I don't really mind getting up and feeding him. It takes about ten minutes, he goes right back to sleep and so do I. I still take naps with him in the morning to make up for the loss and generally I am doing okay. A big part of my ability to get up every night is based on how Egg is during the day.

My kid is awesome. He has the best disposition EVAR. People comment everywhere we go on how happy and friendly he is, they surmise that he is a "good" baby. And damn he really is just that. He's happy and chillin' and starting to become funny and totally goofy. It makes it easy to get up at night when your baby is just so damn wonderful all day long. He will crawl off to his room, grab a few books and read to himself. I can see him from the living room, but he is content. By himself. In his room. It has taken Chicken THIRTEEN MOTHERFUCKING YEARS to get to that point. Not that I'm comparing them or anything. *smirks*

Now, I offer Egg food. He got over pureed baby food rather quickly and only eats regular food. Sometimes he will eat a decent amount of food. Sometimes he chews it, seems to enjoy it, and then spits it out. Other times he just isn't interested. If I was so inclined, I suppose I could forcibly wean Egg and the ensuing hunger would push him to eat more and then sleep better with a tummy filled with steak and potatoes. However, I am not really interested in pushing him to eat food on my time line.

If he wants to nurse then I'm going to let him nurse. If that means that I get up every three hours all night long, then that's what I do. I will offer him food and let him go at his own pace. I'll enjoy his sunny personality all day long. Here's what I need from you: any and all suggestions related to nursing, sleep, and food with the following exceptions: I'm not going to let him cry it out at night, I'm not going to wean him before he is ready. I waited so long for Egg and I know that in a heartbeat he'll be a teenager, rolling his eyes at me. (I mean I REALLY know that for a fact.)

I don't mind the getting up at night. I'm just so fucking over people telling me that if he ate more food then he would sleep. Maybe he would, but I'm not going to force it on him. And maybe he wouldn't. Some babies sleep through the night at six weeks old and I bet they aren't eating steak and potatoes for dinner. Or maybe they are and that's what I'm doing wrong. What the fuck do I know?

*I'm looking at you, The New Girl. Not that you're a douche bag. You know what I'm talking about, yo.

Wait A Fucking Minute

This post has been rattling around my mostly empty brain for months and I just cannot let it disturb my beauty sleep for one more fucking night. My GAWD I just keep thinking and thinking when it isn't even the most interesting or important topic to anyone. Fuck. Then I figure that I am about to irritate all 2.7 of my readers with this crap so I don't write it. Then I go to bed and think about it some more. Therefore, I fucking give up. I am writing this shit and getting it over with right the fuck now.

May I introduce: My Weight, The Slightly Shorter Version But Still Entirely Too Damn Long

I started out my pregnancy with Egg at 135 pounds. By four weeks along, also known as when I missed my period, I weighed 140 pounds. This is REALLY BIG for me, in case you were wondering. I'm 5'4" when I stand up really tall and I am small boned. By 8 weeks into my pregnancy I was back at 135 pounds. At 37 weeks (or so) I was at 147 pounds. I got sick and dropped back down to 145 pounds. The day I went into labor I weighed 145 pounds. (Yes, there is a labor and delivery story in my head bugging me, too. You'll get it. Just be patient.)

So! 145 pound Sam delivers a 7 pound 7 ounce baby plus whatever else comes out of my cooterus during my hospital stay. I come home about 30 hours after delivering Egg and smugly step on the scale because I AM A FUCKING IDIOT. Also? Who lets a one day postpartum woman step on a fucking scale? Stupid fucking idiots, that's who. Wanna guess how much I weighed? Exactly the same. THE SAME. I pushed a 7lb 7oz baby out of my fucking hoo haw and probably a placenta or twelve and I FUCKING WEIGHED THE SAME. What. The. Fuckity. Fuck?! It boggles the tiny little mind I posess to this day.

Now, I understand that medication blah blah IV blah blah bloating etc. but really? The same weight? Not a pound less or more. The same. It kills me. Then I started producing milk like some dairy cow all hopped up on hormones, Egg drinks like a champ and within two weeks I was at 128lbs. The breastfeeding hunger consumed me and my attitude about food changed completely. You see, by the end of my pregnancy I hated food. I looked at fat people and thought, "How the fuck did you get so damn fat? Food is nasty shit and you ate so much you got fat." After two weeks of not being pregnant this attitude had changed and I was starting to wonder how any of us don't weight 650lbs because fuck me food is good shit.

My total hatred of chocolate disappeared within hours of giving birth. I had TB raiding the snack machines at the hospital because I couldn't wait for my first breakfast after popping out Egg at 6am. I was so damn hungry. Today, at five months and change post partum, I'm hanging out at 131 pounds. Still more than I should weigh for my build, but I have massive titties and a baby to feed. I'm still hungry, but it isn't an all-consuming need at this point. Egg now weighs about 17 pounds and as long as he continues to nurse I could give a shit about what I weigh. I'll worry about that when Egg is weaned and I'm not trying to provide calories for two people.

The End

P.S. You do realize the titties from the sunburned post are only that big because I'm nursing Egg, right?

NINJA!!1!

Chicken and I are going to see Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction tonight, also known as the NINJA tour I've heard. At least that's what all the cool kids (Chicken) are calling it. I'm calling it the OMGNINWTFYAY Tour. Google says that I spelled that wrong. What.Ever. Chicken has gotten into music recently in a way which amazes me. At his age I had a total of two tapes, which I received for my 12th birthday: Mr. Mister and FUCK ME I can't remember the other one right now. Oh yes, Tears For Fears. I was hardcore at 12, yo. Hard fucking core. Chicken has an iPod with a million gigs of space and listens to a million bands and spends much of his free time researching bands and tour date and whatnot. It's adorable I think.

It was Chicken's idea to see NIN and I am so stoked that I am sitting on the toilet as we speak/type/read/whatever with a nervous tummy. Speaking of my tummy, I recently found the lost Poo book and will be getting back to the reading and contest portion of your blogging experience sooner than later. Hurrah! I am also nervous because the last time I was away from Egg for more than an hour or so was on February 28th when I got mah hairs did. According to my grays it is time again, but I am hell-bent on seeing NIN instead. I know that TB is more than capable of taking care of Egg, I've pumped and froze milk enough for a whole day, and everything will be alright. Right? Right. I'm going to pump in the parking lot of the venue because too many hours without mah baybee means BEWBIE EXPLOSION and I am sure none of the cool kids want to see that shit.

Wanna hear a story? Of course you do! When I was 15 or 16 or maybe 17? I heard "Pretty Hate Machine" for the first time. I remember being in my friend's car with the CD cover (it was a CD, right?) and trying desperately to remember the name of it. I was a tiny wee bit totally fucked up you see, and knew that the next day would reveal that I could not fucking recall the name of the band or album. So I looked at the album title and thought to myself, "Bewbies!" except I probably spelled them the traditional way of "boobies" back then. So, bewbies are pretty therefore I would remember that I was thinking of pretty bewbies and that would take me logically to "pretty" and then "pretty hate machine." However, all I remembered was "bewbies" because I suck. The End.

Random Fuck Factor or RFF

I tend to wander around the house wearing only undies when Lefty isn't going overboard with early milky production. Eventually I find clothing but I'm not very concerned about it unless I need to leave the house. Today I realized why I should keep Lefty and (damn I forgot the right one's name) contained more often. Teddy Bear walked up to me, grabbed Lefty, hoisted it in the proper direction and used my fucking TIT as a laser to shoot the cats. This display of maturity included the mandatory laser sounds. Obviously, Chicken thought it was hilarious and mused that some day soon I would likely be able to shoot the cats with milk and OH THE JOY of having another boy, right?

Teddy Bear left town to go to a geek festival with a friend. I am slightly worried that he will come back on Monday afraid of me and teh pussy. All that geekiness flowing around cannot be good for a full-grown man, right? Oh, yeah. I forgot that he's one that used my tit as a laser. Never mind.

In case you are a crazy stalker person I should warn you that TB gave me explicit instructions to follow during his vacation:

1. No strange penis is allowed
2. As an afterthought he added no familiar penis, either.

He did not, however, forbid pussy either strange or familiar. WOOT! I also should say that I am heavily armed and somewhat dangerous given the fact that I am crazy. TB looked at me wrong yesterday and I FUCKING CRIED. Like a little girl. Did I ever mention that when my father died he left me a shit-ton of gun and gun related paraphenalia? And I just spelled paraphenalia correctly on the first try without spell check because I rock. TB has finally started poking through all my father's gun stuff and I think I might have facilitated the creation of a monster. One that joins gun forums and reloads his own ammo. Chicken is not into the actual shooting of guns at this point but is enjoying the task of reloading with TB. Whatever it takes for that boy to get the fuck out of my vagina is good in my book.

Speaking of Chicken and my vagina, OMFUCK how needy can an 11 year old boy be? I know the changes with school and house buying and baby coming are to blame but sometimes I worry that I will wake up and he will be dangling out of my body. He has always gone through phases where he is more needy and then more self-sufficient but I cannot wait for school to start. Homeschooling is terribly fucked up in this household and I applaud any parent that can do it without resorting to violence.

Next week "real" school starts and we are done with homeschooling and I cannot believe that in a week and a half of homeschooling I want to die and crawl under my bed. Chicken pushes and pushes and FUCKING PUSHES every step of the way with whining and excuses and cat petting and pencil sharpening and OH FUCK JUST DO IT ALREADY AND BE DONE WITH IT. He is somewhat better with chores, but basically this is how he is when he doesn't want to do something. He takes all damn day to do a few simple tasks and then is surprised when he doesn't have any time to play. I have no idea how to fix this without inserting myself up his ass every second of the day to ensure that he does stuff in a timely manner. Bribing doesn't work at all. I could promise him the world and at the end of the day he is upset because time ran out due to his fucking around. AHHHHHHHH! He's lucky he is cute.

I Gots Me A Hairscut

Have you ever thought to yourself, "Self, I wonder what Sam looks like when Teddy Bear is taking a picture of her and he is in his boxers and his package flops out?" Now you know. You are quite welcome! By the way, I got my hair cut today. It hasn't been this short in more than a decade. I haven't felt this cute in FOREVER. Hey-look at me! I feel cute!! Also? I seem to be in possession of a RACK. At least what qualifies as a rack in my world. I was thinking that going much shorter with my hair would give me an air of maturity. Mail's bride called me a pixie. FAIL. However, I look so damn cute that I don't care. Just call me the Queen of Modesty. You don't have to curtsy. Unless you really want to and it gives me a better view of your rack.

Squeeeeee!

I AM ALMOST DONE WITH THE SEMESTER.
I HAVE ONE PAPER LEFT TO WRITE.
I APOLOGIZE FOR SHOUTING.
I AM THAT EXCITED.
WHEEE.

Also? On Sunday I am getting on an airplane and going here. I am so super excited I can barely keep myself from peeing a little right now. Oops.

Squee!

Dot Com

Go to Sam's Stories right the fuck now. Can you believe it? How exciting? Almost as exciting as the amount of Patron in my bloodstream right now. Also- I went to a dance. My first dance since the Senior Prom of 1992. It was a Mother-Son Dance at Chicken's elementary school and even though I DID NOT want to go, the pitiful PLEEEEAAAASE guilted me into going. So I went. But- goody for you I pushed the girls WAY UP TO HERE and got pictures. So, can you wait until Thursday? Can you?

FINE. A little tidbit for you perverted perverts. You'll have to wait until Thursday for the rest of the deliciousness. Smooches.