There is a blogger I read (we'll use the pronoun "he" for simplicity's sake, but that doesn't mean it's a he). Don't worry; it's not you. He does not read me, that I know of. He does not note me, and I do not note him. I don't think any of my favorites note him. I cannot figure out why or how he got onto my favorites list.
He makes me crazy.
He'll write something like, "Last night I dreamed a golden egg embraced me in its yolky warmth. I emerged, as if from a cocoon, a butterfly on new wings. When I woke up this morning, I was a new man, a man freshly birthed from the egg of my dreams." Everyone leaves notes like, "Deep, man. Very deep." And I barf and roll my eyes so far back in my head I can see my scalp follicles. I don't get it.
That quote doesn't actually resemble anything he's written. At least not in substance. But the nonsensical weirdness and *pseudopith makes me crazy. And yet I can't stop looking. It's like a train wreck. Except everyone else sees a rainbow. Can you tell me why I keep staring?
*I know I just made up a word. I like to make up words.
Grace has discovered her hands, more or less. She is slowly catching on to the idea of bringing hand to mouth, rather than mouth to hand. Sometimes she forgets. What's really awesome is that she's starting to stick one digit in there at a time now. This makes for some fantastic entertainment. She'll get thumb and forefinger all the way in (and girl has giant, meaty paws, mind) and start gagging. Only, she doesn't have the brain connections yet that say, "Gagging on hand. Must move hand." So the gagging will alarm her, she will need comfort, she will shove hand further down throat, and gag some more.
It's so hysterical that sometimes I don't want to stop her. I think this makes me evil.
I have now run boob-first into a doorway twice. This whole pregnancy and breastfeeding thing is so bewildering to someone like me. Someone who once resembled a fence post.
I never thought I'd complain about having BOOBS, but ramming full-bore into a door frame at six in the morning with an engorged breast (while I have to pee like a racehorse) is somewhere up there with having my nipples chewed off by a thousand rabid hamsters.
I changed The Child's white noise machine setting from "rain" to "ocean surf". It should be "ocean surf and those idiot sea gulls".
I changed the setting because today was Naptime Boot Camp: Day One, and "rain" seemed to just piss her off rather than calm her down. Anyway, all day I've been running back up the stairs in response to her cries, only to discover it's those idiot sea gulls shrieking away. I don't know why they don't wake her. I picked "ocean" because it probably mimics womb noises the best, but I don't remember birthing any sea gulls while I was in the hospital. They drive me crazy, but I guess we'll keep them. I get a lot of exercise going up and down the stairs this way.
Speaking of Boot Camp. Day One went better than I expected. Nap One was a total nightmare for both of us. I spent most of it on the phone with my sister for moral support. I went in every ten minutes to pat The Child and reassure her that I was, indeed, still alive and just outside the door, listening to her cries with sadistic pleasure. An hour and a half of that.
It's days like today that it would be nice not to be breastfeeding. I think this might have been much less stressful if I were hammered.
Then I fed her at her usual time, kept her awake for a while and then swaddled her up, turned on the ocean and those idiot sea gulls again, and ran downstairs to stare at the bottle of vodka in the fridge really hard. She actually stopped crying after ten minutes. Half an hour later, she was still asleep, so I took a shower. When I got out, she was screaming again. She'd come unswaddled and Was Not Pleased. So we did the ten-minute increments thing again. For the next 45 minutes. I bought a kilo of marijuana, just in case.
After the next feeding, we played some more, and then I put her back down. And hallelujah she slept for an hour and a half. I had to wake her up to feed her again.
She was sunny and sweet for almost the rest of the evening. And she couldn't have gone to bed easier if I'd drugged her.
I'm hoping we meet just as much success with Day Two. If she naps decently on the first round, I won't make her nap again until one-ish. And we'll save money on booze and drugs.