Hello Dear Boobjuicers and Friends!
I am insane. I just spent four days solo parenting, had a lovely and frustrating and exhausting and wonderful time, and was so excited to get Matt back tonight... and now I'm mad because he stole bedtime. Which I asked him to do so I could have a quiet minute to myself. I've been "away" from Robert (read: in the next room) for a whopping fifteen minutes, and I miss him. I miss this kid who I literally spent the entirety of four days with - if he was awake, we were together, if he was asleep, I had him on the baby monitor or was possibly asleep on his floor. (Our couch seat cushions make a remarkably comfortable portable bed.) I got a two hour break last night because I had tired myself out to the point that I thought I was going to barf (shouldn't have done those 8 loads of laundry over three days and still made pea soup? or just pregnant?) and my sweet, compassionate sister and brother-in-law rushed right over on their way home from Seattle (literally I called them while they were just getting off the train) and scooped Robert up to get me a break. Have I mentioned how much I love living in the same building with them? A lot. Several hundred dollars a month worth, apparently, given our not moving to a cheaper building when our lease was up and we realized we weren't ready to buy a house. But then that was mostly about, "Why would I move out of my sister's building right before giving birth?" which clearly was inspired brilliance. (I just re-read this paragraph to look for a way to break it into two, to spare my dear readers from the mania which is my brain. No logical place to stop it. Just like my brain.)
Phew. So motherhood has clearly broken my brain. Which was not that unbroken to start with. I come from odd folk. Nerdy, good hearted, with a lot of integrity. But we are weird. And parenthood ain't helping. I feel like five people I love have tied ropes around my brain and are pulling it in different directions, and I'm in the middle, being just plain tired. And confused. And conflicted. And we're having another one. On purpose. What the heck were we thinking? We are going to be totally outgunned. I have friends with 3 kids, or even four, or God bless her five boys and homeschooling (you know who you are!) and all I can think is that I am just not made out of the same stuff as these people. They are made out of energy and love and strength and patience and amazing budgeting skills, and I am made out of anxiety and fatigue. And sugar, apparently. And love. I do love my kids. I love my Robert and my little protoperson who is busy trying out different kickboxing moves on my bladder. I love them so fiercely I don't know myself sometimes.
Friday I screwed up naptime and Robert was a mess all afternoon/evening, and I lost my cool and yelled at him, and he looked just wounded. And I sent him to play in his room, and washed the dishes and cried and felt like flinging myself off the balcony. (Which I will NOT do, please no one freak out.) And he came back out and was all sweet and clearly still liked me and I felt like I didn't deserve it because I had yelled. Which is ridiculous. People yell. Parents yell. Even good parents. Even parents who get along really well with their kids. And since we are so opposed to hitting, that pretty much leaves us yelling and time outs for enforcement (and taking stuff away but sometimes you can't - how do I take away the kitchen counter? It's kind of heavy.)
Ugh. I'm just exhausted and hormonal and need a weekend to get over my weekend, at it's 10pm and I have to get up at 6 and go to work. Where no one is going to torture the cat or get a time out. Or if they do it's not my job to do anything about it. But really I just want to curl up in a ball and hide for a day and a half.
All of which is STILL ridiculous because I really had a fun weekend and enjoyed having Robert all to myself - I almost never get to spend so much time with him.
Maybe it's more like ten people with ropes around my brain.
Here's hoping y'all had a more emotionally simple Memorial Day weekend.
Much love,
Suzi
Monday, May 30, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Boob Slang
Hello Beloved Boobjuicers and Friends!
I finished up my course and now am officially qualified as a Peer Counselor for the Oregon Nursing Mothers' Counsel. YAY! Then I promptly dove into crunch season at work and took a trip to Minnesota, coming home with a cold and zero energy. But I am on the mend and back to chat with you lovely people once again.
One thing on my mind is boobs. Yes, I know, I always have boobs on my mind. But specifically, this somewhat childish word to refer to breasts. Clearly not all lactivists are in to the idea of being flip about breastfeeding, breasts, etc. In fact I'm pretty sure at least one woman in my peer counseling class was downright grossed out by the title of my blog. This made me ponder. Am I chasing women away who would like the information my fellow boobjuicers and I have to share? Should I change my approach?
When I was pregnant with Robert, I found the insipid tone of a lot of resources aimed at the first-time pregnant mama absolutely infuriating. Hormones or no, I did not just regress three decades and I did not want to be patronized. I imagine the elderly feel like this a lot - just because I need help carrying this box up the stairs does not mean I suddenly became stupid or infantile. After giving birth, the tone changed - to a sort of gentle, over-reverent, over-feminine whisper, with terms like "at the breast" and cautious glances. Oh please. I was exhausted and in pain and wanted someone to give me some straight up information and help without making assumptions about what a rapturous mood I must be in all the time. I found it very difficult, at times, to sort through all this lavender flowery haze to get at the real information, which I very much needed, from these sources.
Hence boobjuice. The tone is about how I feel about breastfeeding. It is wonderful, it did become rapturous at times, but let's face it, it's also just a practical every day thing and I don't want to have to talk about it like some holy event all the time. Sometimes I just want to feed my kid and get some work done. Sticking my tongue out at all the overly-reverent parenting resources, admonishing me for involuntarily screaming the first time Robert chomped down on my nipple (I'm sorry but that freaking hurt) was one way that I was able to keep going despite being pissed off.
My sense of humor, offputting though it may be to some, has gotten me through depression, my father's cancer and passing, and a lot of other crap without letting these things stop me in my tracks. Lots of people don't get it or won't like it. (After Dad died, the poor med resident who came with the doc to verify that Dad was dead [apparently the nurse who held one of his hands while he passed is not considered qualified to do that] was shocked that Mom and I were cracking jokes.) But I think there are probably a lot of other women who find it refreshing. Or if not, maybe they can say, "well, I'm not as weird as her yet, so I must be okay." And for the others, there are TONS of wonderful resources in that lavender flowered whispering tone that might be more palatable. God bless 'em.
So if you're still reading you're probably not offended, and I hope I will be of some use to you!
Happy boobjuicing!
Much love,
Suzi
I finished up my course and now am officially qualified as a Peer Counselor for the Oregon Nursing Mothers' Counsel. YAY! Then I promptly dove into crunch season at work and took a trip to Minnesota, coming home with a cold and zero energy. But I am on the mend and back to chat with you lovely people once again.
One thing on my mind is boobs. Yes, I know, I always have boobs on my mind. But specifically, this somewhat childish word to refer to breasts. Clearly not all lactivists are in to the idea of being flip about breastfeeding, breasts, etc. In fact I'm pretty sure at least one woman in my peer counseling class was downright grossed out by the title of my blog. This made me ponder. Am I chasing women away who would like the information my fellow boobjuicers and I have to share? Should I change my approach?
When I was pregnant with Robert, I found the insipid tone of a lot of resources aimed at the first-time pregnant mama absolutely infuriating. Hormones or no, I did not just regress three decades and I did not want to be patronized. I imagine the elderly feel like this a lot - just because I need help carrying this box up the stairs does not mean I suddenly became stupid or infantile. After giving birth, the tone changed - to a sort of gentle, over-reverent, over-feminine whisper, with terms like "at the breast" and cautious glances. Oh please. I was exhausted and in pain and wanted someone to give me some straight up information and help without making assumptions about what a rapturous mood I must be in all the time. I found it very difficult, at times, to sort through all this lavender flowery haze to get at the real information, which I very much needed, from these sources.
Hence boobjuice. The tone is about how I feel about breastfeeding. It is wonderful, it did become rapturous at times, but let's face it, it's also just a practical every day thing and I don't want to have to talk about it like some holy event all the time. Sometimes I just want to feed my kid and get some work done. Sticking my tongue out at all the overly-reverent parenting resources, admonishing me for involuntarily screaming the first time Robert chomped down on my nipple (I'm sorry but that freaking hurt) was one way that I was able to keep going despite being pissed off.
My sense of humor, offputting though it may be to some, has gotten me through depression, my father's cancer and passing, and a lot of other crap without letting these things stop me in my tracks. Lots of people don't get it or won't like it. (After Dad died, the poor med resident who came with the doc to verify that Dad was dead [apparently the nurse who held one of his hands while he passed is not considered qualified to do that] was shocked that Mom and I were cracking jokes.) But I think there are probably a lot of other women who find it refreshing. Or if not, maybe they can say, "well, I'm not as weird as her yet, so I must be okay." And for the others, there are TONS of wonderful resources in that lavender flowered whispering tone that might be more palatable. God bless 'em.
So if you're still reading you're probably not offended, and I hope I will be of some use to you!
Happy boobjuicing!
Much love,
Suzi
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