BIOBaby: Held Hostage

I’m not one of those Moms that never has a bad thing to say about motherhood because I think doing so somehow makes me a bad Mom. I’m all about keeping it real. And on the realness, some aspects of motherhood, like everything else in life, sucks.

So, allow me to vent a bit about an aspect of breastfeeding that is wearing on my already-frayed nerves. Oh, and before you all go getting your lactating panties in a bunch, I realize that this is probably a small problem and one of my own making. I take full responsibility, but I get to vent because it’s my website and that’s how I roll.

Laying down nursing and co-sleeping are a dream for a lazy ass like me, but there are times where I feel held hostage by the routine I’ve nurtured. Take the other morning for instance. Saturday morning I woke up bright and early, but could not leave the bed because Jack was still sleeping. I thought about having Donny come upstairs and stay with him so that I could maybe take a shower, have a cup of coffee, workout, etc., but then I heard the lawnmower start and knew that Donny was busy.

But even if he wasn’t, Donny wouldn’t have been able to offer up the boob like I could any time Jack stirred. That has become the routine. Jack sleeps through the night, but some nights he stirs and will pull at my nightshirt until I whip one out and let him suckle himself back to sleep. I cannot move until he’s done and being done isn’t always so easy to determine. Just cause he stops sucking, doesn’t mean he’s finished. If I go to remove it, he suddenly cups the boob with both hands and start sucking away like, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Usually, it’s a double-edged sword because I don’t want to lie there for an hour so being a human pacifier, but I also don’t want to do anything to wake him up because 1. he needs his sleep and 2. when he’s sleep and I finally pry myself away, I might be able to actually get shit done.

Last night we moved the pack-n-play right next to our bed and Donny lowered the mattress. We tried putting him in there, but he woke up both times and looked at us like, “Um, no. I belong up there with you two and don’t even think about tryna get busy because I don’t need any other siblings.”

Yes, Jack is a cockblocker.

He’ll be ten months old in two days and I planned on nursing for 18 months, but now I’m thinking, “hell to the naw!” Eight more months is a really long time. That’s a whole ‘nother pregnancy.

Also, I kinda want my boobs back. They’ve become family entertainment. Last night I was sitting on the couch wearing a nursing nightgown. Jack crawled up into my lap and started tugging at it. I pulled out a booby and instead of him laying my lap in the cradle position, he faced me and rested on his knees. Then, with the boob still in his mouth, he stood and plopped back down on his knees blowing air out of his mouth as he went. This resulted in a farting noise.

Donny and Kali laughed. Ever the ham, and realizing he was on to something, Jack continued to do it over and over again. They all laughed, including Jack. You ever see a baby laugh with a titty in his mouth? It’s pretty damn cute.

But that’s not the point. The point is that I’m wondering if one year might be my stopping point. I’m trying to gauge what feels right for both Jack and I. As I type this, he’s in my lap, sucking away and sleeping. It’s beautiful and makes me think that 8 months ain’t so long after all.

Now to the good stuff. Pictures and videos!

Jack ripped up my $20 game guide for Animal Crossing so I had to get another one. He’s now allowed to rip the old one to shreds if he desires. What does he do? Turns the pages like a civilized reader!

Still with the tongue

The below video is kinda dark, but I didn’t want to risk moving to turn on the light and then he’d stop “reading” the book.

“Reading” with better light

We Do It To Ourselves

Mommies, nothing sums up motherhood better than guilt. OK, well I suppose love would also do quite nicely, but for today the word is guilt. We’re often made to feel like we’re not doing something well enough, fast enough, or often enough. And usually, we are the main culprit.

Take the other night for instance. I really, really, needed to wash my ass. For reals. Donny and Jack had fallen asleep, but there was no way I could go to bed in my current state. I needed to shower. I can’t go to bed dirty. Never could. Back in my younger (sigh) partying days, no matter how tired and/or inebriated I was, I’d always have to bathe before getting in bed. I figured the next morning’s hangover would be bad enough without adding a pillowcase covered in make-up, tequila-flavored drool, and regret to the mix.

Anyway, I was in the bathroom doing my pre-shower ritual (brushing teeth, q-tip eargasm) when I thought I heard Jack crying. I opened the bathroom door and peeked into the bedroom. At the same moment, Donny woke up and immediately turned to look at Jack who was lying flat on his back in the middle of the bed. His legs were spread-eagle, his head was thrown back, and his mouth was wide open. He was knocked out.

“He’s fine,” Donny said laying his head back down.

I went back into the bathroom and began to gather up my clothes and turn off the shower I had running so the water would get super hot like I like it. Donny said he was fine. I’d seen with my own two eyes that he was fine, but in the span of five seconds I’d convinced myself that taking a much needed shower was a bad idea.

What if he did wake up and Donny didn’t hear him? What if he went looking for me and fell off the bed? What if he cracked his head open when he fell? All because Mommy couldn’t go to bed with stinky pits? Maybe I’ll just wait till tomorrow and ask my Mom to hold him for ten minutes so I can bathe. What’s a few more hours of smelling like ass? Hell, I’ll be asleep for most of them!

Then I realized what I was doing. I’d created this whole scenario in which I’d convinced myself that to take a shower would make me a bad mother. I had managed to talk myself out of doing something for me based on guilt I’d placed on myself! And imaginary guilt at that!

I decided to take a shower. A nice, hot, long shower. And while I bathed I trusted that if Jack did wake up, his Dad would be there for him… if for no other reason than to not hear my damn mouth if he wasn’t.

So my fellow Mommies, the lesson this Mommy Monday is to every now and again, let it go. Trust that our babies are fine with the other people that love them. Trust that the world will not end if we take a moment for ourselves. We have to know that it’s okay to take ten minutes to wash our asses without beating ouselves up about it. The alternative is going to bed smelling like gangbang and nobody wants that.

Three’s Company

After Kali was born, but before Donny came into the picture, Kali and I slept together all the time. The brand new crib my mother had bought for her was a complete waste of money because Kali probably slept in it a total of five times her first week in this world.

When Donny, Kali, and I first moved in together we rented a small one bedroom apartment in Durham, North Carolina.  It had a cozy and safe feeling about it.  Kali, then one, would sleep out on the futon pulled out into a bed in the living room. This snug situation lasted all of ten months before we upgraded to a two bedroom townhouse within the same complex.

Even though Kali had her own room there were occasions when we’d find her creeping into our room in the middle of the night wanting to crawl in between us.  For the record, she still does this ever once in a while at the age of 8. I never minded it at all. Hell, if I had my way we’d place a small bed in the corner of our bedroom for her to use each night.

Nothing beats the feelings of protection and contentment that come over me as we set the alarm each night after Kali has been tucked into bed – except perhaps if she were tucked in right between Donny and me. He thinks I’m crazy.

“Kids need their independence. They need to learn to sleep on their own,” he argues.

What. Ever. I tell him all the time that I would love nothing more than to have a huge bed that could fit us and all of our children one day. I’d allow them to sleep with me until they decided it was time to sleep on their own, and if that happened to be at age 13, so be it. Donny insists that it’s weird and we’d be in danger of having child protective services called on us.

I don’t think his concerns have anything to do with catching a case a la Michael Jackson, I think it’s more to do with the fact that when the three of us are sleeping in our queen-sized bed, it looks like this:

Kali’s tall like me and all limbs. She also sleeps like me; with those long limbs stretched as far and as wide as they can go. When the three of us sleep together Donny usually catches an eight year old sized fist to the dome.  Also, notice the drool stained pillows and how I don’t even get one. Poor Donny sleeps in the fetal position all night. More importantly, can we discuss I felt the need to give my husband “death eyes” in this drawing?

After looking at my drawing Donny came to the conclusion that we need a bigger bed. I’m not going to argue – the better to fit all of our future offspring in.