B.F. IS NOT MY “BEST FRIEND”

I never thought I would forget how much time a newborn demands even though they sleep 23 hours a day. ZGirl will blissfully laze away as long as it means staying curled up on my chest. Sneaking a 10 minute shower is nothing short of a gamble. It’s frustrating that in moments of selfishness: showers, extended bathroom breaks, eating, and lastly, blogging, that she performs a coup de grace on my Me Time without mercy.

I know, I know. I really shouldn’t complain. But I will and then move on.

The one thing I thought I’d never be doing almost four weeks postpartum is nursing exclusively. I lost my patience with XBoy when I couldn’t tell if he was getting enough and he was waking every hour, apparently starving to death. I gave in to the siren song of a husband willing to wield a bottle and allow me to sleep for five hours in a row. ZGirl took to nursing like a pro. I only had a day or two of nipple ache (a medical term-to-be if ever there was one) and voila – “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard…” (did you know I could get that as a ringtone if I wanted??).

I am not prepared for nursing long-term. I want to introduce a bottle NOW, but will wait until my appointment on Monday to talk it over with the pediatrician. ZGirl has already given her opinion in no uncertain terms on a pacifier: GET THAT FUCKING COLD, HARD, NASTY-ASS THING OUT OF MY MOUTH, BITCH!

Jaunts out of the house are done in a mad scramble and I could easily end up on What Not To Wear for my unwise decisions to just wear whatever I slept in the night before out. I will however put on a non-milk stained t-shirt out of respect. Which reminds me: Mr. DD did make an after midnight run to Wally World a few days after ZGirl came home for a pacifier run. When he returned, he told me how he saw a woman walking around with two wet circles on her t-shirt. He said instead of judging her, he empathized with her plight. I, of course, would have judged her.

I have been out three times to eat with the in-laws in the past couple of weeks. Each time, ZGirl’s timing has been impeccable: demand food just as mine shows up out of the kitchen. It matters not that I nursed her before leaving the house. Not one of the places we went had anywhere private, including last night’s outing, when I had to whip out boobage in the waiting area of the restaurant right under the security camera. I don’t care that nursing is supposed to be a natural  experience. That’s not natural, people. I don’t want to see it so I know most others don’t, either.

So I am either fighting cabin fever or trying to protect my modesty. Imagining a year of this does not exactly inspire me to continue. Some nerve I have, right? Complaining about being able to breastfeed but not really wanting to. You have my permission to virtually bitch-slap me, but before you do, how about a little distraction? Look! It’s ZGirl!