Frustration

Have you ever felt like a bottle rocket? All the pressure is building up inside of your head and chest, but there is absolutely nowhere for it to go? And if you could EXPLODE terrible consequences would ensue?

Argh.

After spending another night with my crying/gassy/colicky baby I am beside myself with frustration. Earlier she finally fell asleep on me, and with high hopes of making dinner I put her in her crib. However, three minutes later she was up and crying again... and continued crying until about thirty minutes ago, when I fed her (she screamed the whole time), gave her gas stuff (miracle fluid) and she belched loudly several times -- then she felt better enough to keep eating and fall asleep on my boob.

Transfer to cradle was successful. Thank God.

Anyway, during this fun marathon, Alex and I argued about why she was crying and he left to go for a walk.

Frustrated. You know, I don't make anything anymore. I should have finished those damn chickens for my sister before JGR came because I have no idea when I will be able to sit down again in my sewing room (which is really the office/craft/guest room) and work on my hilarious testi-chickens. Because, I swear to Jesus, they still look like a guys junk, even with beaks.

So. I'm sitting in the dark trying to calm myself down enough to keep reading the new book, "The City and The City," by China Mieville (whom I love freakishly, this being the fifth book of his I've read... and three of those books bordered or surpassed 1,000 pages). It's like an addiction. But I'm currently... shall we say, unable to focus.

Hope all is going well for you (three) readers. I'm going to go curl up in my den and try to read.

Squishy Face

As babies do not have teeth they happen to have very squishy faces. Now, JGR has a very squishy face -- at all times a squishy face, but we mainly call her angry face the "Squishy Face."

For example, in this picture she was not happy about being in her car seat, therefore she displayed her Squishy Face.

I don't know if it's cruel or not, but I will typically laugh at her when she makes this face. The main reason is that while she is upset/frustrated/bored/gassy her face still maintains an element of "Oh, man, that is one cute toothless face."

It's even better now that she's starting to put on the weight. Her cheeks are getting fatter, so now when she pouts it looks like she REALLY means it. Ah, my little turd bucket.

Ah, Heck

This mother thing is hard.  Just when I think I've got the little bugger figured out she goes and changes everything.

For example, last week she would nap for two to three hours solid.  This gave me the opportunity to shower and do laundry, or whatever.  However, this week she only wants to nap if she is on me.  As long as I'm holding her she's willing to sleep, which means I don't relax.  By the time my poor husband gets home I'm so... shall we say "exhausted" that all I want to do is hand her over and eat something.  

Because it's very difficult to eat when you're holding a baby.

Also, that last couple of days, after I've managed to grab time to shower, she cries as soon as I'm out.  So I rush to get her, feed her, and then she spits up between my gargantuan boobs.  Seriously, I cannot emphasize enough how large this things are.  And, now, apparently, they are always covered in milk or spit up.  

All I can say, for all of those who are contemplating having a baby -- think about how dirty that little thing will make you.  It will barf on you, aim its poop at you (I've been hit multiple times), pee on you (she peed on me the other day before we got into the bath tub), and I'm sure there are other substances she's saving for later.  

Sure, she looks all innocent, but in reality she's just waiting for the right moment when my guard is down.  Take right now -- I put her in her crib because she was NAPPING.  Now, I can hear her, she's hanging out.

At least she's doing it quietly.

Ode to a Breastpump

I love my breastpump.  Yes, essentially it is a vacuum that sucks the milk from my boobs, making it a very unromantic thing.  However, it provides me with profound relief when it empties the hefty milkbags that dangle from my chest. 

Holy crap.

It's also helping me stock up on a milk supply so that I can leave my beautiful daughter with a relative while I go watch a movie (or do anything else) with my husband.  That way I can feel un-guilty about enjoying myself when she can still eat.

Lately, when I leave the house, it's like I've started a marathon and I have to race out and race back so that if she starts to fuss because she's hungry she doesn't have to fuss long.  It's strange being the food source for another living being... I'm still getting used to it.  

This whole mom thing is hard and completely unpredictable.  I totally applaud my sister who is doing this with twins and a 5-year-old right now.  She doesn't sleep.  I'm mean enough that when JG starts to fuss a bit in the middle of the night I check to see if she's serious, then say in my head, "Give me another ten minutes of sleep, then I'll change your poopy diaper/feed you."

It's wrong.  I still do it.  I love sleep.  I also love my breastpump.  You try carrying around an extra two pounds or more in your boobs, then maybe you would understand what I'm talking about.