Pumped UP!

If you are a man, most likely- you will want to stop reading here. No really. HERE.

For the REST of you- I just wanted to address what is perhaps one of the most ridiculous situations I have yet to find myself in. And for those of you who have HAD the experience, I am sure you will agree whole heartedly.

Pumping. Breast pumping the ol' feedbags for the li'l one. It's just ridiculous. I am literally strapped via plastic cone by my boobs to a machine that whirs louder than a zerox copier. I find myself swaying to the pump for the lack of anything better to do- I have even mentally choreographed a dance that could rival the macarena! Watch OUT weddings! Watch OUT!

Out of sheer boredome, I watch my little plastic bottles fill ever so slowly with the tiniest of drips... Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes can roll by and I am basically immobilized by the plastic tubing that is erupting from my "cones" and attaching me to my "home base". Even more ridiculous are my nipples- squeezed and contorted into some odd shape you would never recognize. Sort of like play-doh hot dogs- artfully crafted by a three year old.

My hands are tied up holding the milk receptacles, and I cannot help but think that this system is the best set up that has been invented thus far? Serisously? You can tell a busy Japanese businessman does not have to pump- or things would be majorly upgraded. In addition- the actual machine would most likely have a silencer- so pumping could be slightly more discreet- or at least.. um... less rhythmic.

I am only aiming for a measly six weeks of the pumping business- and with Wednesday marking my midway point- I am feeling a little less pessimistic about the whole "situation"... and am looking VERY forward to my freedom from the pump.

In the meantime, I will continue to sit- watching more HGTV than you may have thought possible, while whirring away to the sound of my machine- and resting assured it's all for a very good cause.

What I Didn't Know

Aside from the fact that I have not really had time to write a blog, I have also been uncharacterstically undecided on what to write about- even when I DO have five minutes of free time.
As I go about my daily activities ( sleep, eat, pump, hold baby, change baby, feed baby, look at baby, burp baby.... ) and my head mentally composes what just could very well be the next blog- I am stopped mid-point by either A. the incredible mundaneness or B. the sheer volume of complaining I hear myself doing. It's rather ridiculous and I would prefer to spare the readership and myself of boring whiney drivel. So instead, I have chosen to join the land of the new Mommy-barely sleeping and functioning set- and this group strictly forbids any blogging- particularly of the upbeat "things are going great variety". Mostly because it's a lie and also because even it if WERE true, the other new Mommies would become crazy jealous or self deprecating or any number of other horrible sleepless and emotional reactions to someone else's well-being.
I will say, however, that there are a "few things" that were spared me during my pregnancy that I really thought I should make mention of...
For example... WTF on the "after-contractions". Such BS! No one told me, nor did I ever remember reading about such things. But yes- the "afters" are SO not fun. I know- SMALL price to pay- but would have really liked to have known about those suckers.
I also had no idea about the continuation of the "maternity garment". I figured I would just be wearing size 16 jeans or something horrendous like that... but no "real clothes" really fit. In essence, you are still pregnant. At least in the mirror. Which is sort of a mean spirited joke by the man above if you ask me, because you FEEL about a hundred pounds lighter- so really, you THINK you are looking fab and really you have NEVER looked worse. Never. So don't mistake that "thin feeling" with actual thin-NESS. Big difference and the drive thru lady will make comments about you in her head as you pay for your Big Mac.
Moreover- everyone who offers to help, or is willing to help, or IS actually a great help will NOT, and I repeat, will NOT be up for the new child's two AM feeding. So while you might be disillusioned by the fact that you will be "helped"- you need to know that you will be helped most frequently when you don't need it, like when the child is sleeping peacefully or when his diaper has JUST been changed. No offense to MY help- because it DOES help, it's just not really the "HELP" you might fancy yourself getting- because really, nothing quite says "Mom" like a poo-ey diaper and a starving crying infant at 3:25 AM, and really, it's this kind of thing that is needed for you to "earn your stripes" so to speak and why Hollywood Moms just don't get the respect.
This is of course not to discredit that MASSIVE amount of help we have recieved from my Mother or the GINORMOUS amount of food we have gotten from the SIL or Rachel or Vanessa, or the flowers or the baby clothes or the gift cards or the money from every Tom, Harry and Dick and from here to tomorrow. Really, the dresser is overflowing as is the freezer and the bank account. Haha! JUST KIDDING on the bank account- we spent his college fund on dipars already- sorry baby Jake- you were born in a recession year!
Hopefully, as things find themselves more routine and I am able to catch my breath the blogs will get back to being slightly more forthcoming. In the meantime- if you do not hear from me, considering it a favor unless you want me to list the number of diapers I am changing each day.

Birthday Boy

The birthday boy finally arrived. And after much ado about nothing- he's perfect. Absolutely perfect. Oh, I know all new mommies say that. But really, he is. Not even a scratch or a birthmark to be found. And while he's a tiny little peanut weighing in at total of 6.1 pounds, he's just as contented as could be and smiled IN the hospital upon hearing his Daddy's big booming voice. I kid you not. Not to mention, he did ME the favor of arriving as planned on his very special due date of 7-08-09- he will SO thank me later for that one.

We are settling in around here- adjusting ourselves to a schedule he deems fit- which would be slightly easier if he made up his tiny peanut mind already! But alas, we are patient as we are already so in love with him.

Last night- his seventh in this world, was our first as new parents without Grandma around to help out. And thankfully, peanut boy decided to be easy on us and stick to a three hour sleep schedule. See how GOOD he is?

Dear Unborn Child

Dear Unborn Child,
This journey of ours together is about to be over. Over the last nine and 3/4 months, I have gotten to know you better than anyone else. I understand that you like chocolate and hiccuping, and detest sausage. I have done my best to be compliant. I also know that you like to wiggle around at 11 PM, and 2 and 4 AM. Much to my chagrin, but okay. I know you like the sound of your Dad's voice, and that's cool, because so do I. You do not like my long walks, but tough buddy- I have given up a lot of my favorites for you and walking was NOT going to be one of them. More than anything, I have given up my body for you- which while is certainly my pleasure and totally worth it, I am not always gung-ho about it. I have gained a lot of weight on your behalf, and it's rather uncomfortable. I mean, when I went to the movies the other night- the seat actually felt small. Granted, I was trying to lodge a bucket of popcorn between my legs, but my butt has gotten really huge for you. I have also given up caffeine binges and glasses of wine. A couple of my other favorite things. I miss them terribly and as the end of our time together in the same skin draws nearer, I must admit, I am looking forward to a little space here.
I realize you will be needing me beyond belief while on the "outside", but at least when I sleep at night it will not feel like I am trying to sleep with a medicine ball tied to my waist, squishing my lungs and flattening my butt. And really, it WILL be nice to eat a tomato after 4 in the afternoon without "paying the heartburn price" already. With every pillow in the house tucked up under my back and propped along my sides, I am thinking it's time for you to be living on your own a little bit. I know, I know, you won't be far away. You won't let me sleep and all of that. You will put me through another torturous exercise in proving my love for you via lack of sleep and making sure I have absoutley zero sex appeal as you use my body as a feedbag. It's all good- I am ready for the next phase of proving. If we were playing a video game I would say I am bored of this level and feel as if I have conquered it. Let's move on! Level two! LEVEL TWO!
Any which way, I am looking forward to getting you out and on your own, putting YOUR skin to some good use. I am excited to meet you and don't begrudge you any of the time we have spent together, it has been very special and I have already fallen in love with you. See ya Wednesday!
Love, Mom

Appointments

I am not so sure how the pregnancy empathy stuff works for the husband, but my sweetie has been waking up in the middle of the night to pee right along with me. This means neither of us are getting a good night's sleep- and last night, when I woke myself up by snoring... ( NO idea how that works ), I went straight to the couch to maintain as much damage control as possible. Needless to say- it was a restless night and very little sleep was to be had. If it weren't for all the acetametaphin scares, I would have been deep into a Tylenol induced slumber- however- all the news shows have me concerned about my liver. I guess.
So today will therefore be tackled with bags under my eyes and quite honestly, I am getting to that tail end of pregnancy where I could really care less. Yesterday, in fact, I found myself wrestling over weather or not to wear sweat pants out in public and a pair of UN-matching flip-flops. If you know me at all, this is INSANE, as I even match my flip-flops with my jammies just to run outside to grab the mail. But I didn't... wear the sweat pants and unmatching flip-flops that is. I suffered through a pair of knee-hugging black capri's and an un-ironed t-shirt that slid up and showed my belly. A declaration of carelessness. It was very liberating until I caught a glimpse of myself in a window. Not so much fun then, as the tugging and pulling became distracting while I was trying to focus on the most important thing in my life right now, which is food shopping.
At any rate- today- ahhh... today. It is appointment city for me... starting off with a routine Dr. visit. Next will be the chiropractor for a leg massage- and yes it is fantastic ( last time the foreign masseuse took one look at my calves and asked, "Ahh! Too much high heels?" ). Lastly, and most importantly will be the salon- where I will sit for two hours straight while undergoing a cut and color that will leave me looking, or at least my hair, like I sorta care about myself. Which will be a good thing, since it's not evidence by my skin, clothes, nails, or basically ANYthing else.
In the meantime, I have begun poring over my Weight Watchers materials and cookbooks- in an effort to get myself geared up for the "diet" that will begin taking place just as soon as I can get my bearings. I can't wait to own my body again!