Sex Toys and Other Drunken Bad Decisions

I'm back in the land of the living. It's official. I've been in a dark hole peering out at those around me doing my best to act like one of them, but internally just wanting to crawl into a ball and sleep it off. I don't know what I'd be sleeping off, but somehow I just felt like sleep would make it all better. But a normal person doesn't get enough sleep when they have a baby, so I just pulled myself together and limped through the day.

Last Thursday I found out my favorite cousin had died. He had seen me grow up, and most of my memories from my childhood involve him. I use the word cousin loosely--he was actually my dad's cousin, so he treated me like a niece. He was funny, silly, loving, and (always important to an 8-year-old) semi-famous. He, as well as his father and brothers, were professional wrestlers. His youngest brother, Brian, was way more famous than he was, but he was and is widely regarded as one of the most under-appreciated wrestlers in the history of the sport. He was known for always making his opponents look way better than the actually were. But to me, my cousin was just Brad. Not Brad Armstrong, or "BA" or "Buzzkill," just Brad.

**For the record, yes I know pro-wrestling is "fake". So are sitcoms, plays, and movies. It's a form of entertainment and a lot of the people who take part in it are skilled entertainers who just happen to choose a different medium than most. I am not a wrestling fan, but I respect the talent it requires.

Respect the Mullet

Brad introduced me to habachi food. He called me and impersonated cartoon characters, actors, and sometimes character of his own invention just to make me giggle. He gave me a Dr. Seuss book, Oh the Places You'll Go, for my highs school graduation. He was the only person who didn't give me cash, and I still his that book. Recently he worked at a nutrition store next door to my tanning salon, and I'd pop in and say hello. He was always authentically glad to see me. There was always a hug hello and an "I love you" instead of goodbye. He was the most authentically kind person I had ever met, and he wasn't just that way with his family; he was that way with everyone. Everyone at the funeral said Brad was their best friend, and I believe he sincerely was.

My cousin's death was not the cause of my downward spiral; it was more of the rock bottom point. The day I found out about his death, I comforted myself with as many vices as I could legally get a hold of. I ate fried comfort food all day, and after Jackson's swim lessons, I made my husband go to the liquor store. That night I got drunker than I had been since I got pregnant. Did you know Evan William's has an apple cider? 1 minute in the microwave and it's Christmas in a bottle! Since my husband is the ever supportive man that he is, he of course got drunk with me.

I had been toying (no pun intended) with the idea of selling Pure Romance products for a while, but somehow, in our drunken state, this plan came to fruition. Did I get the small, conservative starter package? Oh no. At my husband's urging, I got the Mack Daddy, "Platinum" starter kit that includes almost $4000 worth of product. But, as my husband said about 82 times within an hour, he believed in my ability to make this a thriving business. No pressure.

While I was waiting for my plethora of sex toys and accessories to arrive, I attended my cousin's funeral. It was my first funeral for someone I was close to. It was kind of interesting--most of the attendees were pro-wrestlers from past and present, so there were a lot of gimmicky looking people wandering around. There was an Elvis look alike, a "wolfman," etc. The eulogies really hit home with me: story after story of Brad's kindness, humor, love, and charity made me realize that he's dead and the only thing I can do is honor his memory and his life by learning from it and showing everyone the kind of love he showed people. Pure, honest, authentic, child-like love.

I woke up this morning with a mission in my heart and a package at my door. A forty pound package of dildos to be exact. So I didn't vote today. I was busy inventorying arousal creams and vibrating cock rings and spending time with my baby. Because not only do I want to live my life the way Brad lived his, but I want my son to turn out to be as kind and honestly good as Brad was.

Babies are Manipulative Bastards

So basement Bobby and I were talking yesterday, and he saw a documentary about babies. Apparently they use their cute little gummy smiles to ensure their security. As we all know, human babies require a longer period of time for development and more nurturing than babies of other species. Seemingly unrelated, the human baby is the only species that can smile. This is, apparently, so that when the parent sees that little smile, they forget about all the work that goes in to caring for those little guys and just want to continue to nurture and care for them.

My mind flashes back to one of my many sleepless nights in the beginning. I remember hearing Jackson crying on the baby monitor and thinking how much it sucked. But as soon as I saw his little face calm down, look in my eyes and smile at me, I wasn't tired, irritated, frustrated, or hopeless. I was just so happy to have him in my arms, feel is skin, and smell his baby breath. That sneaky bastard.

Debby Downer Does Dallas

****SPOLIER**** This entry had nothing to do with Dallas.

Hello the Bold and the Bloggiful,

I haven't written in a while--not due to to lack of important events in my life, depression, or laziness. I've actually had writers block. I didn't realize that happened to writers of such whimsy as a blog, but alas, it has. So here's what's going on in my life:

1) I opened my medical billing business (woo hoo)
2) I went on another teaching job interview and did not get the job, again
3) I had a pregnancy scare (Not pregnant, thank you sweet little 8 pound baby Jesus in a manger)
4) I went to a pentacostal church (where apparently they talk in tongues, run around, yell at you for not being a zealot, and make your baby cry). After two an a half hours, I finally got out of the srvice. Not because it was over; rather because I realized I was missing football.
5) My little man is now pulling himself up and standing more than he's sitting. Every time I go in his room and he's standing in his bed, I get a feeling I'm in one of those Paranormal Activities movies.
6) And finally I've realized I cannot trust my father alone with my son.

He was "watching" Jackson while I was getting ready for my interview, when I noticed Jackson  playing on the coffee table. For most families, this would not be a big deal. But we have a special coffee table. The top is just a sheet of glass beckoning young children to knock their teeth out on it, and there are sheets of metal forming the legs. This is in fact the coffee table of death. I'm pretty sure my husband got it at the "Death to Babies and Small Children" section at Rooms To Go. And my father was letting my very wobbly son pull himself up on the coffee table and play in and around it.

Fast forward to me one my way to my interview, I get a call, and as soon as I pick up I hear my son crying. "Would you like to tell me what the f*** I'm supposed to do?!" Now this is not the first time my father has watched my son. And this is not the first time that my father has refused to listen to any guidance I give him. For example, my son is happily playing in the floor with his toys. My dad scoops him up and forces him to sit in his lap and suffocates him with a snuggle. Well meaning, but all this kid wants to do is crawl and play. I try to tell my dad this and he shouts at me, "I want to hug my grandson! I'll snuggle him if I want to!" Meanwhile, my son is crying out of frustration. Then my father hands a fussy baby to me that was just fine playing on the floor and says, "Here! He's such a mama's boy. He wants him mommy." No, actually he wants to crawl and play. And probably wouldn't mind if you shaved a bit more often and toned down the cologne. So when I got this call I knew my father had been totally oblivious to any cues that my son gave him, forced Jackson to submit to his will, and was then baffled that Jackson didn't want to go along with it.

Then shit got real. I came home and my father left without saying anything to me. A few hours later basement Bobby came up and gave me the run down of what really went down. Apparently he heard my father yelling at my son, "G**d*** it Jackson, shut the f** up!" and then when my brother came up stairs to hep, my father bitched about how I've spoiled Jackson and he's not watching him until I get my shit together. I would like to take this opportunity to say my dad ASKED to babysit. I never ask him to babysit; I usually ask my in-laws. When he finds out, he then gives me a guilt trip about how I love them more than him.

So this is what I learned from this experience: F*** guilt trips, f*** not hurting my father's feelings; my son is my first priority. I have been the target for my father's severe anxiety and anger issues and I made it through and got over it, but I will be damned if he uses my son as a target.

The End.

Invisible Mother Resurfacing...For Now

OK, so I was a bit of a Debbie Downer in my last post and I know all of my followers (all three of you) come here for my clever witticisms and brilliant, self-deprecating humor. But I come here to vomit my mind. If my mental puke makes its way onto your sidewalk, I can only hope that you appreciate getting a little on your shoe. If not, oh well, it's on there anyway. 

Anyhoo, I have made pretty substantial strides to reclaiming myself. I've gone walking multiple times this week and have the shin splint to prove it; I went to the tanning bed; and most importantly I GOT MY EYEBROWS WAXED!!!!!!!! This is a major accomplishment in my life. Seriously, they were getting so bushy they itched. It may have been in my head, but it felt like little creatures had inhabited my tiny face forests. When the tore the wax off my face, I didn't hear the desperate cries of a geographically transplanted species, so it probably was all in my head.

In television news The Real Housewives of New Jersey is about to be over (sad), the Falcons are 4-0 (woo hoo!), and I have started to fall for an entire new show: Breaking Amish. That's right, TLC has once again put forth an absolutely ridiculous premise for a show, and it has stolen my heart. 4 Amish and 1 Mennonite 20- Somethings break Amish/Mennonite tradition and go to New York to see if they want to break away from their home culture forever and most likely be shunned/disowned by their family and friends. Bring it on TLC. I can handle your heartbreaking tales of failure and triumph!

Things I have learned from Breaking Amish:
1) I'm super glad I have all my teeth.
2) I must have been so fucking annoying when I was a drunk 18 year old.
3) The preachers' kids are always the worst influences.
4) Apparently red is too bright for Amish women to wear, but bright blue and lime green are ok.
5) Amish people do not cry.
6) Amish pluck their eyebrows.
7) There are red neck Amish men out there who drive with their mouths open. Kristen Stewart style.

I would not make it as an Amish woman.

The Invisible Mother

I feel like motherhood has been a constant, unending struggle. Not really the actual act of mothering: the nursing, cooing, loving, protecting part has come pretty naturally. It's more of an internal struggle against external forces that I am at war with.

I feel like every day is a challenge to preserving my sense of self and establishing my identity as a mother. I'm fighting to convince those around me that I know what I'm doing because maybe if they believe in me, I'll start to. I'm struggling to be thought of as a mother rather than someone who got knocked up and am now dealing with the consequences.

Furthermore I'm struggling not to fade away. My father doesn't kiss me on the forehead when he leaves anymore. He doesn't even say goodbye, actually. He tickles my son, kisses the dog, and leaves. My social life consists of Dora the Explorer, pulling my son away from the edge of the stairs, and being home from 6 o'clock on because I'm the only one that understands and can effectively pull off his routine without upsetting him. If I do venture out, I'm filled with anxiety about if my son's delicate routine is in danger of being broken because his routine is his security blanket. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. But where does that leave me?

I haven't waxed my eyebrows in 6 months because somehow I cannot get out of the house for the 5 minute, $8 procedure. I can't sleep through the night because when I wake, I hold my breath while listening to the static on the baby monitor waiting for my son to wake up. I can't remember to drink enough water, or take all my pills. My therapist keeps reiterating that I need to hold onto the things for me so that I don't completely lose myself, but I don't think I know how to do that anymore.

Always Wear Clean Underwear

Do you remember when your mom used to tell you to always wear clean underwear because if you get hit by a bus, all the paramedics and emergency personnel would see your underwear and inevitably judge you based on the snail trails left in your britches?  Well I got hit by a metaphorical bus on Saturday and my metaphorical underwear were metaphorically disgusting.

I went to Babies-R-Us to exchange some shoes that didn't fit Jax/find something to spend my nonexistent money on. I was standing in line at customer service to show someone that I had in fact walked in with the shoes and was not trying to pull a switcheroo (that's right, I used that word.), when I saw my bus. My bus was pushing a pink stroller and loading up bags of merchandise into a cart. My ex was there with the woman he left me for. Now I use the words "ex" and "left me" very loosly: this was my kind of slutty period, so it was more like we saw each other and I fell in love with him and he did not see me as girlfriend material.

Let me point out: he is not my bus because I'm not over him. Looking back, he was pretty much a loser, and it would not have worked out to my benefit at all. But that doesn't change the fact that if I saw him (or anyone I had once dated, for that matter) I wanted to look freaking amazing and show him a) he was stupid to let me get away and b) I wasn't crazy anymore. Unfortunately, I looked something like this:

My hair was up in a VERY messy bun due to bald patches from my son yanking my hair out and/or breaking patches of hair, my post-pregnancy pooch was nestling in for the afternoon (I had just eaten taco bell), and my eyebrows had not been waxed in months. So I hid behind the pregnant woman in front of me and reached the following conclusions:

1) I will never leave the house looking like that again. You never kow who you're going to see. It may be someone that you have petty resentment towards and want them to think you're better than they are.
2) I was lucky to have met my husband because he gave me the mama's boy I so desperately wanted (among other reasons). Since my egg was meant to be fertilized around the same time both men's sperm were meant to do the fertilizing, I got the preferable of the two specimens.
3) My ex, who I remembered looking like this:

actually looks like this:

So though it did not play out exactly as I had imagine, I think the experience had a pretty positive outcome.

Poor Shaniqua: I May Steal The Contents of Your Freezer

September 7, 2012

One of my nearest and dearest friends (We'll call her Shaniqua) just had a baby.  Shaniqua already has a 2 year old boy and just had a little girl.  Now Shaniqua and I have one very big thing in common: anxiety.  She is actually the first person I met who was seeking help for her anxiety, and she inspired me to do the same.  Now we all know that pregnancy and child birth send your hormones into a crazy land of frustration and torment; add an anxiety disorder in the mix and you have a real party.

Also like me, she will never ask anyone for help.  I remember when I had Jackson, everyone said the obligatory, "Hey do you need anything? Ok, well if you need anything at all, just call."  I just didn't feel right asking someone with their own life and responsibilities for what I really needed: a casserole, a shower, and a clean house.  My mother is not in my life, so there was no female figure (or any figure for that matter) that had been there, and would just swoop in and help me re-acclimate to my new role.  So I acclimated by attrition.

Shaniqua, on the other hand, has a strong family made up of all women who have had babies.  I still hear and see, however, the subtext whenever we speak/text.  The subtext being, "I have no clue what I've gotten myself into.  I can't do this, my life is falling apart.  I haven't showered in two weeks and I can't remember if I brushed my teeth this morning."  So I have given myself a mission; I will help her in the way I never was helped and never knew to help before.

The plan as I see it: I texted her this morning.  "I'm coming over Monday.  If you're not up to it, that's fine. I'm leaving presents and care items at your door.  If you are up to it, I'm going to come by and be your personal servant for the day.  I know you will never ask for help so I'm forcing it on you. :)" Smiley faces always make you less obnoxious.  I will spend the weekend picking up items that helped me out during my first few weeks: granola bars, rolls of toilet paper (I always ran out and never could go to the grocery store), lanolin, and whisky.

September 10, 2012

I woke up with good intentions. I was going to cook a breakfast casserole and Cheddar Ranch Bacon Chicken Pasta (I don't think they could fit anymore delicious foods into that name), get a few things at the store, and go and be Shaniqua's slave. So I start cooking the breakfast casserole when two plan changing events occur: I realize I'm out of eggs and my husband calls and tells me the air conditioning repair man is coming. Awesome.

Luckily Basement Bobby watched Jackson (not an easy task since he's been velcroed to me during the latest teething spell) and I go to the store. Upon arrival back home, I mix up the casserole (baby clinging to my side) and get it in the oven just in time for the AC guy. I'm Suzie Freakin Homemaker, people!

Then my plan falls apart. Velcro baby wants to start cluster feeding, so I can't cook the pasta, I realize I'm out of toilet paper (I guess I never learned my lesson the first time around), and my husband drank all the whisky last night.

Telling myself I'll have to be satisfied with just the breakfast casserole, I make my haul to Shaniqua's house. To my surprise, Shaniqua had it way more together than I could have ever expected. Not only was her little baby girl sleeping peacefully in her pack and play, her house was spotless and she was in the middle of potty training her son. Hoping to find consolation in another mother losing her mind as she was adjusting to a new phase of parenthood as I had, I made a realization: not everyone has had the same struggles I had. I had assumed that someone else had the same needs a me when my own son was miserable and just wanted me to hold him and comfort him. Perhaps my energy and nurturing nature were misdirected....

Then Shaniqua blew my mind. She opened her freezer to show me her pride and joy:

Holy Christ on a cracker. Her baby isn't even a month old and she has enough milk stored to open her own dairy farm. This sight flooded my mind for the rest of the day. I tested her later that night:

Me: "I can't stop thinking about your milk."

Shaniqua: "I don't even know how to respond to that."

I'm so lucky to have the friends I have. Anyhoo, I find it necessary to point out not only is Shaniqua pumping, she is nursing too! This woman is a le leche league goddess.

Things I learned:

1) Don't assume people need you when they don't ask for your help.
2) Take care of your own business before you force your services upon others.
3) I have to start pumping again. In fact, I'm pumping while writing this. Does that creep you out?
4) Always buy toilet paper.

Boom Goes the Dynamite

Happy Football Sunday everyone! I hope everyone's team won, which is of course an impossibility but I'm just being courteous because all I really care about is the Falcons winning. And they did. I can only attribute their win...their CRUSHING victory...to my baking skills. I cannot believe that it is a mere coincidence that I baked a Falcon's cake in honor of the first regular season game and my team won.

Here was my inspiration:

And here is my magical creation.

Yeah, I know. I pretty much nailed it. I felt that the "cah cah" addition in the corner really brought the cake to life. Where will you find a cake that makes bird sounds? Anyhoo, I know what you're thinking and YES! I will make a good luck cake for you and your team of choice (as long as they're not playing the Falcons.) Just send me a picture and I will bring your vision to life while ensuring your team certain victory.

My Life Just Got a Little Better

So I was on my way to a play date with Jax today when I realized two things: I hadn't gotten any wine and I had told the host that I would bring a bottle (That's right, I go to the kind of play dates with alcohol. What? Got something to say? I didn't think so.) and I was hungry. But I wasn't just, "Oh, I could go for some tacos" hungry, I was "I haven't eaten in days and I'm not above ripping off your arm and tearing it apart" hungry. When I get to that level of hungry, it's not a pretty sight: shit get real. I throw fear of tickets and legal repercussions to the wind, and no obstacle will come between me and chicken tender meal.

Let me take this opportunity to mention that my baby woke up teething. The kind of teething where he won't eat, sleep, or stop whining/crying. He had taken a nap before we left and seemed to be feeling much better, so I was giving the play date the old college try. His hatred for his car seat, however, had reawakened his case of the nasties, so he was screaming during my entire chicken tender quest.

So at this point  had resigned myself to be a sub par guest and forgo the wine. As I pulled into the Burger King parking lot, however, the clouds parted and God himself shined down upon the most beautiful sight my weary eyes had seen. Behold my discovery:

That's right; your eyes do not deceive you. That is a drive through liquor store. I no longer had to a) fight with my screaming child as I took him out and put him back in his car seat to get a bottle of wine or b) face judgmental stares as I peruse the shelves with a 6 month old pulling on my face. So after I got my food and situated my passenger's seat into a smorgasbord of chicken, fries, and various condiments, I pull through the liquor store drive through, feeling a bit giddy about the novelty.

A somewhat attractive man comes to the window, and I keep it classy:

Me: Can I have a bottle of your cheapest moscato?

Him: A fifth bottle?

Me: ...

Him: Like a regular sized bottle?

Me: Oh, yeah.

Him: Sprakling?

Me: Yes, please! (Like I said, classy.)

So after he flirts with me a little bit over my screaming son, I debate the caliber of man I'm attracting that hits on me through a liquor drive through window while my son is in the backseat crying. I also wasn't wearing my wedding ring because after my pregnancy, I developed a metal allergy. So maybe he thought I was easy. Especially with some sparkling moscato in me.

So I ride off into the sun set--belly full, wine in hand like a good guest, with pissed off baby in tow.

Beyonce--My Personal Hero

This is easily the funniest thing I've ever read. I've read a lot of humorists in my day, and I usually do an internal "huh huh," but I pee myself every time I read this. I mean, don't get me wrong; the lack of kegels doesn't help, but it's pretty damn funny.

I'm sorry I wss unclear-- Click the Picture

Hello Senility, Your Dress is Lovely.

So I'm making a grocery list, and I realize that it's pretty sad that my new way of planning involves scouring my Pinterest food board and figuring out what I'm in the mood to try/what I have most of the ingredients for. I'm a fledgling foodie, so I'm pretty excited when I see a recipe that I have all the ingredients/spices for. It's like affirmation that I'm all grown up with a grown up pantry. I guess the husband, house, car, and baby are not affirmation enough; I need coriander.

I also realize it's even sadder that the last few grocery lists I've made have resulted in me forgetting which recipes all the food I bought went with, the food going bad, and me and my family ordering pizza. My solution? Blog. That way all I will have a responsibility to my followers followers (both of you), and I have a record of my thought process upon planning this shopping trip.

Parmesan Crusted Chicken

French Breakfast Muffin that promise to melt in your mouth and hopefully not on my ass.

Banana Oatmeal Breakfast Cookies

Chicken Broccoli Casserole

Bacon Ranch Chicken Pasta

Bacon Chicken Crescent Ring--First Official Football Sunday of the Season!!!

Spicy Honey Chicken

I Should be Ashamed....

There are some thoughts and actions that pop up in my life everyday that make me stop and think, "Sweet Jesus....What have I become?" To unburden myself I'm releasing them into cyberspace like little retarded doves flying into each other.

*When I have to go to the bathroom, I put my baby in the tub and let him play.

*I'm trying to teach my son how to say "dah dah" so when he wakes up in the middle of the night and says "dah dah," my husband will have no choice but to go and handle it.

*When my baby is naked, I wave his hips back and forth so his little package is flopping around and I say "Magic Mike! Magic Mike!" which makes him giggle in delight.

*I find it's difficult to use the "Being a stay at home mom is just as demanding as your job, if not more! I can't clock out!" argument when my husband comes home and wakes me up from a nap. I plan my napping schedule accordingly.

*I get my child naked just to stop him from crying sometimes.

*If my child is crying and I know he's not hungery, I'll still feed him Gerber's baby junk food to shut him up.

*My boobs used to be a crumb catcher. But now that I'm breast feeding and usally feed him while I'm eating, my baby is my crumb catcher. And my meat catcher...potato salad catcher...coleslaw catcher.....

Second-hand Deer Head, a New Camera, and an Unresponsive Husband--My Labor Day Weekend.

Before reading on, you need to know three things about me:

1) My in-laws clean out foreclosed homes
2) I'm a shopaholic and staying at home all day is not helping
3) My husband told me I'm not allowed to talk about him or anything that happens between us in my blog.

Enjoy.

So we went to my in-laws' house for Labor Day. As we were making our way through the garage, I saw a mounted deer head staring at me from the ground. What. The. F. "Yeah we found this in a home. We can't give it away!" my mother-in-law said. Can't imagine why.

"That thing creeps me out. It keeps staring at me," my father-in-law alerted me. Noted.

So about an hour later, after I've randomly popped around the house letting Bubba (the deer) stare at my father-in-law through the windows, we're playing with Jackson on the floor when someone (ahem) gets the idea to put Jackson on the deer head. Like he's riding it. Pretty bad ass, right? I thought so. So after some laughs and questionable positions (as to their safety, not their appropriateness), we did the normal new parent move: CAMERA TIME!!!!

After clicking and reclicking our crappy camera, we realized we were not going to get a good picture. They were all blurry. I tried taking a few other pictures and realized they were all blurry too, regardless of playing with the settings. Aw heck naw. This isn't going to work for this obsessive mother. To the internet to find the best camera our pittance of an income can buy! I will dedicate myself to finding the best camera for the least amount of money. I love a good bargain. It's like a win in the game of capitalism. If I find out someone got something I have for less than what I paid, I vomit in my mouth a little.

Today I posted on Facebook that I need a good camera and I need recommendations pronto. I immediately get a message from my husband: "What did you do to our camera?" A brief history; I am terrible with electronics. I've lost countless phones (due to alcohol), been present for the malfunction of many computers (I refuse to say that I broke them. I was just using then when they stopped working. Coincidence I say, but Basement Bobby and my husband aren't buying it.), and broken one camera (due to a bat flying into me in Africa. At least I'm telling everyone it was bat. Besides, what was I supposed to do? It was kill or be killed, and the camera was a casualty in my plight.) So my husband assumed I broke the camera. I think it's a faulty product.

Regardless I can smell the panic in his message. This should be fun. So I explain to him that I didn't do anything to anything, and then ask for his log in to use his points he earns at work. If he gets good customer reviews, he gets points to purchase products from their little inventory. Well, little isn't appropriate. They have everything. Vacations, tool, baby toys....AND CAMERAS!

He automatically comes back with, "I don't have enough point for a camera." I know this is true, but I also know he's stocking these points away for something for himself. I'm fine with this, he doesn't do much for himself, but I can't resist an opportunity to mess with him. South Africans are like Italians: hot tempered and quick to react. Excellent.

"I know I just want to look." He gave me his log in information. Darn it, no bite. So someone asks me what my price range is in response to my status. "Under $1000," I respond. This should do it. No messages. "What time will you be home?" I ask, poking to see if I'm being ignored."

"I don't know. We're pretty dead." Huh.... this is odd. Maybe he's fine with the $1000 camera idea? Sweet. So this game has lost my interest. I start unpacking a box I got from UPS. My video baby monitor has come! I put a ton of thought, research, and soul into choosing this baby monitor. Then I see a golden opportunity for more antics: "I got the video monitor!!!! Do we have screws?" I message.

"For?" he responds.

"To mount the camera for the baby monitor." Aw yeah. I can see it now: "We're not going to destroy the wall to mount a camera! We already have a perfectly fine baby monitor! We'd have to repaint the wall..." or maybe even, "Do not even THINK about mounting that yourself."

"I'll take care of it when I get home." Seriously? I'm not comfortable with this composed, even-tempered version of my husband. I'm very confused.

On a related note I've realized I have way too much time on my hands so here are my Pinterest goals for the week:

This will be my endeavor for dinner tonight: sweet potatoes for one.

Making this for my friend, except I'm putting fake pearl strands on it instead of painting them on. But I'll also need to make....

A homemade bow. Because I can never find exactly what I want.

This is easily the most scary. I have no artistic ability at all.

This is an on-going project. Mine will be a bit different, but same idea.

And I'm between making this (banana oat breakfast cookies)...

And Banana Peanut Butter Oatmeal Squares

And finally...a cheap baby toy with scrap fabric.

Wish me luck!

*****UPDATE*****

Strange events continued throughout the day with my husband. He came home, went to the store for me, went BACK to the store after dinner when I mentioned craving sweets, bought two different types of sweets I was craving, hung the baby monitor, and took out the trash. I don't really know what's going on. Two logical options: either he's suddenly decided to be the perfect husband and developed overnight this intrinsic knowledge of exactly what I need from him (cookies) or he has a twin that I never knew about who has been lurking in the underbellies of society, came back in his life, killed him, took over his identity and turns out to be a pretty awesome guy. I'm not asking questions. I've seen enough Mob Wives to know to respect the code of silence.

Job Hunting

In today's job market, many job seekers in a variety of fields are screwed. It just so happens, the field I am certified in (education) is one of those fields in my state. I have been looking for a teaching job since December of 2009 to no avail. Part of the problem was I had a full time job that paid far too well for me to cut back at or quit. Also, my husband and I were trying to financially prepare for our future baby, and a teaching job would have been a pay cut. So now I have all the time in the world to throw myself into finding a job that I am passionate about.

I had an interview at a somewhat high risk (ghetto) school earlier this week. The position is part time teaching remedial English. That would be a turn off for many people, but I actually really enjoy teaching this demographic. I don't know, maybe part of me secretly sees myself as the teacher from Freedom Writers (I'm wearing my pearls dammit!) and wants to fight the good fight. So I went to the interview and things went well, other than Basement Bobby asking me if I was trying to go for the slutty teacher look. As I'm reflecting on the possibility that I may get the job I've been fighting for for years I realize...I don't want to work! I had pretty much resigned myself to the idea of staying home with my son until next school year and was starting to get pretty excited about it! I had so many Pinterest projects I wanted to try and fail at! Who is going to make the capes for his first birthday party if I'm working? I know my husband won't! And if he does they will probably be wrong. Or have a giant felt penis on them. A birthday party with no cape is not an option. Same goes for the comic themed cake pops, super hero goodie bags, and super girl tutus for the little girls. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!?!?!?

On a related note, I found a school in my area that is an extension of home schooling, and they even provide tutors to celebrity children. Being the consummate groupy and creepy fan girl that I am, I immediately e-mailed the head of hiring. She responded with the a request for my resume and a list of all the subjects I'm certified to teach and signed the e-mail "thx jen". Hrm. Wait--subjects? As in plural? Are there people in my area that would respond, "Oh, yes. I'm certified in English, Math, Spanish, German, Science, and synchronized swimming." Maybe this is my competition. Maybe that is why I haven't gotten a job.

Oh well. I guess if I don't get this job, I'll spend this school year failing at Pinterest, planning the most fabulous birthday party that the recipient won't even remember, studying German, and taking synchronized swimming classes.

We Got the Funk

This commercial is my life in male form. I always said if I had a son, he would be one of these boys. I guess we'll see!

Top 10 Most Useful Baby Items 0-6 Months

Here is a list of all the things I've either been seriously thankful for that I got at the baby shower or had to run out and buy because I realized I just couldn't survive without it. These items are definites for a registry or baby shower.

10) Video Baby Monitor

The reason this is so low on my list is simply because my child just turned six months and I just broke down and ordered one. But with the various stages of sleep training and my highly anxious personality, my lack of one caused many sleepless nights. When I let Jackson cry for the presribed ten minutes when breaking the swaddle, I was convinced he had slipped his leg through the crib slats and broken his leg. Irrational, yes, but I know I'm not the only one. Save yourself some stress and shell out the extra money for peace of mind. I got mine on Ebay for $99.

9) Sleep Sack

 A perfect bridge between the swaddled to unswaddled stages, this is also the only approved "blanket" for babies under the age of one. Mine has been invaluable and I even bought a second one that was lighter weight because the first one I bought was definitely a bit hot for summer nights in the south. My only complaint is that the one I ordered has "Back is Best" embroidered on the front along with jungle animals. I was a little irritated that the company felt like I need to be lectured about SIDS safety by a giraffe.

8) Bassinet

I never actually bought a bassinet. I borrowed one from a friend, and I'm still kicking myself in the ass for this one. Although Moms on Call preaches "straight to the crib" from the hospital, I used the one I borrowed for the first six weeks. It was easier to have him right next to me after I let him cry for the prescribed 2-5 minutes rather than trek across the house multiple times a night. Later he got sick a few times, and I had already given the bassinet back. I was up multiple time at night administering Children's Tylenol and snuggles. Ultimately I just brought him in bed with me to provide some sort of comfort so he could get the rest he needed.

7) Hyland's Teething Tablets

       

I put off getting these because my pediatrician said it was best to use something topical (i.e. Baby Orajel) rather than systemic medications. I gave him teethers (both frozen and regular), let him chew on my fingers, and pretty much let him do whatever he wanted to do. Finally it got to the point where he wouldn't eat. My poor little man as so miserable. All he wanted to do was eat and sleep, and his poor gums wouldn't let him. I finally got some of these tablets, and within ten minutes, he was full and sleeping on my lap. Seeing his little content face made me decide to always have these little saviors on hand. I have a bottle in my diaper bag and medicine cabinet at all times.

6) Doorway Bouncer

My little man, like most little men, is extremely hyper active. It got to where I couldn't just sit him in his Bumbo or Exersaucer to entertain him while I was tending to the house. Then I realized I had gotten this bad mamma jamma. I hooked it up, and he started going crazy. He got a running start and rammed anyone walking by, he jumped all around, and he slammed all the buttons until if I heard Yankee Doodle Dandy one more time, I swore to God I would take my own life. That being said, he started being able to put more weight on his feet and understanding how to walk. I now get an hour every morning with him totally entertained and giddy while I do household tasks.

5) Baby Brezza

So I understand that not all parents make their own baby food, and I am not knocking that at all. With my son's food allergies, I'm perhaps a bit overly anal retentive about what goes in his body. Just ask my in-laws, they'll tell you. My father-in-law tells my regularly. Anyhoo, I realized it's pretty easy to make food for Jax. All you have to do is peel it, chop it, press the button, and BAM! You're super mom. 

4) Bumbo

Seriously this thing is awesome. It helps babies learn how to sit up, which is my favorite development so far. It also sits them up so that they can see the world while your hands are full doing something else (always in the same room!) Even though my son is at the super active stage where it's easy for him to roll right out of the Bumbo and start crawling(ish) somewhere else, I still use this for feeding. I don't even have a highchair because with the feeding tray, this does the job at this stage.

3) Boppy

Obviously the Boppy is awesome for nursing and that is my main use for it. It is also great for propping your baby, tummy time, and helping your baby sit. Sometimes my husband even uses it as a pillow. I will say this is one of those things you have to get the name brand. I had the off-brand originally and the middle sunk in. Jax would slowly slump down while feeding and get his head in all sorts of ridiculous positions.

2) Sleep Sheep

As part of the Mom's on Call program, you need a while noise machine. The Sleep Sheep has 4 different options: heartbeat, rain, ocean, and ocean with whales. It automatically shuts off after 45 minutes, which is great for not making your baby dependent on white noise for soothing. We love it so much, we even got the travel Sleep Giraffe that has all sorts of jungle noises.

1) SwaddleMe's

Ok, so  realize this looks a little ridiculous, but it is a beautiful sight to see a sleepy little baby burrito in the crib every morning. Many parents say, "Oh, my baby didn't like to be swaddled." Bullshit. Just because they break out doesn't mean they don't like it. My son would struggle and grunt and cry, but once he got to sleep, if his arm got loose, he would raise hell. Breaking the swaddle was so hard, but it was way better to go through that at a latter stage than when he was still a newborn trying to get used to everything else. That being said, I was AWFUL at swaddling. I was so "thrifty," that I swore I would figure out how to swaddle. I was not about to spend $20 on a glorified blanket with Velcro. About a week of sleepless nights had me running to Babies'R'Us, cash in hand.

What could you not live without the first six months? Did I forget something? What can I not live without for months six through twelve?

Pick Me Up When I'm Down

This always makes me smile when I'm down. And by smile I mean pee my pants.

Introducing Basement Bobby

There is a man living in our basement. A 350 lb man in his early 40's sleeps during the day and only comes out at night to fill up his cup with ice and sometimes rummages through food. I find my ice cream consumed, cookies diminished in number, and banana bread picked over. He has a blender in his bathroom and an espresso machine in his room. His outfit of choice is a dashiki and a pair of boxers. He usually tucks his shirt into his boxers. His hobbies consist of bike riding, sewing, stalking women on jdate even though he has no jewish lineage, playing World of Warcraft, and creating computer applications. He has the maturity, sense of humor, common sense, and logic of a 13-year-old. An exceedingly annoying 13-year-old.

This man is my brother. Almost 20 years older than me, he's been more of a parent in my life than a sibling. I share a connection with my brother that I do not share with anyone else. My brother (since he's pretty socially awkward once he lets his guard down) will start a thought mid sentence, and I will usually know what he's talking about. I don't know if this is a good thing.

For all his idiosyncrasies, my brother is one of my biggest helpers with my son. Something about babies turns this man into a giant teddy bear. He can sooth Jackson even when I can't (usually. I was gone for two hours today and apparently Jackson did nothing but cry. I'm not going to lie, it was kind of an ego boost.) He spends time working with Jackson helping stimulate his mental and physical development, and constantly tends to his needs. I'll never forget the night my husband woke me up and said, "Jackson's crying, but it's not on the baby monitor." I flew into the other room panicking that my little man had been crying for God only knows how long and I had just been snoozing away. I opened the door to see my brother swaying with a whimpering baby, saying, "It's okay little buddy! Your Uncle's here."

So the crazy, pants-less, large man that haunts my house, eats my food, and is usually tap dancing on my last nerve proved to be the most precious asset in my life, especially my life as a mother.

Soy Free for Me!

So since my son has food allergies and my all encompassing refusal to spend extra money on formula when I am producing food for free has taken over, my diet has to be soy free. Which is difficult because soy is in everything. Eating out is limited if not out of the question and usually exhausting. Most things I have to make from scratch or do without. Though there is debate whether soybean oil is considered an allergen, I don't want to risk it when my child poops blood as a result. So here are a compilation of helpful resources I have compiled:

This website has soy free chocolate! I haven't tried it because I just stumbled upon it, but I will be testing and updating!
http://www.soyfreesales.com/

This is the recipe I use for mayonnaise. Now this would be filed under an epic Pinterest failure, but I figured out I've been adding too much lemon, which stops it from thickening. I plan to make another batch with ever so wee amounts of lemon and report back.
http://www.spain-in-iowa.com/2012/01/how-to-make-homemade-mayonnaise-with-4-simple-ingredients/








This is a breakfast casserole recipe I found. I use it in place of granola bars and it is delicious! I leave out the chocolate chips, but now that I found soy free chocolate, we may be in business!
http://alwaysamrsforeverakidd.blogspot.com/2012_01_01_archive.html

Since instant oatmeal has soy in it, it's pretty exciting to find a way to have oatmeal that's not boring! It is, however, far from instant. I usually make a big batch and eat it throughout the week.

When You Figure Out Your Awesome Routine Doesn't Really Work

So it's pretty obvious every new parent's main struggle is getting a sleep schedule and routine down. Many parents I talk to still sleep with their babies. Some do it because they crave that closeness, which I TOTALLY understand. Ultimately, however, nighttime is my only adult time. Also I do not sleep well when he does sleep with me. When Jackson was about three weeks old and I was drowning in a sea of flip-flopped nights and sleep deprivation, one of my best friends who was also a mom introduced me to Moms on Call. It's an online seminar that you have to pay for, but she has already subscribed and just gave me her name and password. I love her and her enabling me to be so cheap.

Since her subscription was about to run out, I hopped online, watched the appropriate seminar for his age group, took notes, and forced my grumbling husband to watch it with me because "since I have to go back to work, I'm not going to be the only one getting up with this baby, so take notes buster!" (All part of my master plan for him to let me quit my job.) The first few nights were rough, as they cautioned, but within the three nights, my 4 week old was sleeping until 2 am! Then 3 am! Then 4 am! By 8 weeks I busted in his room at 7 am to make sure he was still breathing. I think that scarred him because he hasn't slept that late since.

This continues successfully for a while until it came time to unswaddle. My friend went hardcore and unswaddled and in three nights her son was back to normal. I can't commit to three sleepless nights, so I slowly broke the swaddle. It was a long process, but with the same overall results, I feel.

Then my world came crashing down. Today at the pediatrician's office, he asked me about our bedtime routine. When I told him his night feedings are at 9 pm, he gasped in horror. Some of the horror subsided when he realized I wasn't feeing him solids at 9 pm, but I didn't have the heart to tell him the feedings START at 9 pm, by 10 pm he gets his second wind, plays for about an hour, then nurses again until he falls asleep, I let him sleep on me for 30 minutes (because he has reflux, and I have to keep him elevated after eating), and then he's in the crib around midnight. I got the picture that my routine wasn't the best. But the subscription to Moms on Call had lapsed! What to do? My friend alerted me that she had copied and pasted the text portion of the program into Word and promptly forwarded it to me. Damn she's good. If I were a dude I would marry her.

So I sat down and read the program, and realized how truly behind our routine was. I should be putting him down awake, letting him soothe himself to sleep, and he should be in bed by 9:30 according to this life-saving program. On top of that, after I close the door at 9:30, I'm not to reopen it until 7:30 am. Um....huh? Well, I have a lot of work to do.

This is the first night I'm loosely trying the program, although I'm starting full force tomorrow, because my husband will be off for three days and he can relieve me in the mornings to recoup some sleep. I put down my little nugget albeit at 10:30, closed the door, walked across the house to my room, turned on the baby monitor, and listened to his little goat-like sobs. This sucks. I would give it ten minutes of full on crying, and get him back in here to nurse him to sleep one last time. Then a miracle happened. By ten minutes the force of his cries had softened to mumbles and he was falling asleep. Suddenly I feel empowered that I may be able to do this after all!

Update:Next Day-- Jackson slept through the night and slept all the way until 8:15, at what time I busted into his room to make sure he was alive. He was. And pretty irritated I had woken him up.

**Brief note: My husband and I have decided that we don't agree with the "close the door for twelve hours, and don't go back in" mentality. I have, however, invested in a video baby monitor that I'm pretty stoked about so I can check on him more often without him seeing me. I think if crying exceeds 30 minutes, I'll go to check on him, because, according to Mom's on Call, the phase of sleep where they're still asleep but can be fussing lasts around 30 minutes.

http://www.momsoncall.com/

Oh Pinterest, You Mocking Bitch You

 I, like most other women in America, have been deceived. I have been convinced that I can cook, organize, create, and sew. Anyone who knows me would respectfully disagree. I can't even bake cookies without burning them. However, the food category on Pinterest beckons me. "Come to me," it says dreamily. "You can do this! It's so easy! The only reason you fail is because you never try. These step by step pictures make it fool proof! Balsamic mustard glazed pork tenderloin with roasted vegetables? You got this!" So I drink the Kool-Aid, pin the recipe, and go to the grocery store. Two hours later I'm crying and ordering pizza because "I SUCK AT EVERYTHING! I'LL NEVER BE A GOOD MOM! HE'S GOING TO GROW UP ON MCDONALD'S AND TACO BELL!!!!" while my husband is pouring me a glass of wine and bouncing my giggling baby boy. God I'm lucky he puts up with me.

Oh....you can make your own mayonnaise?? PIN IT!

Nursing Stikes Back

Let me preface this post by saying that breastfeeding is the best decision I've made as a mother. It's been a hard journey, but that has only made it more rewarding. There are times when everything is sailing along smoothly, and suddenly something happens, and you feel like all the growth and progress you've made has disappeared, and you're back to square one. Nursing strikes definitely make you want to give up.

Nursing strike are when, for one reason or another, your baby will not nurse even though he or she is starving. So you have a screaming miserable child at your breast latching and unlatching (easily the most painful part of nursing in the beginning), but not actually getting any food.

The first time I experienced this, I had no clue what to think. I just sat and rocked with Jackson until he got so exhausted from the labor of pitching a fit and starving, that he would latch and immediately doze off. It was miserable to see my little man like that. A few weeks later, the culprit leered its ugly head. At about 5:30 on a Friday, I unwrapped a soiled diaper to find blood. Holy crap. And of course this would be the timing. I called the pediatrician on call, and after a long weekend of close monitoring, sleepless nights, and an almost trip to the children's emergency center, we went to the doctor's office on Monday.

Food allergies. Since his bloody poop tested negative for infection, the most likely culprit was a food allergy. The most common food allergy in infants is milk, so I stopped eating any milk products and his eczema cleared up. Yay! The blood, not so much. In fact it got worse. So I scheduled an appointment with a specialist. The specialist agreed it was probably food allergies, but to what? He gave me a whole list of possibilities: Milk, soy, fish, peanuts, tree nuts, wheat, and eggs. I had two options: I could cut out one at a time, and if he's allergic to more than one it will be harder to figure out, or I could cut out everything and slowly add thing back one at a time. I chose option 2. But the question begged to be answered, what exactly can I eat?

The doctor said that it took 3 days for all the allergens to get out of my body, and my breast milk. Everything I read online said up to three weeks, so I compromised with a one week cleanse. I pretty much couldn't eat anything except for homemade meals that consisted of fresh vegetables and meat. I am a girl that loves to eat out, so it was miserable.

As I slowly added things back into my diet, I figured out it was the soy. No big deal right? Well I am here to tell you, SOY IS IN EVERYTHING. Soybean oil is in all Publix bakery items that I've found, most breads, and pretty much anything cooked with oil. In fact the "vegetable oil" you usually cook with is probably soybean oil. Soy is also used as a protein filler, so it's in a lot of beef dishes including all taco bell beef items, hamburgers, etc. It's in mayonnaise, salad dressings, chocolate, candies, EVERYTHING. But that's a whole other story. After I cut all soy and milk products from my diet, the blood started going away, and he started nursing like normal.

Reason 1 for nursing strike: Upset tummy/food allergies

All was going smoothly, and I was feeling like the mommy with all the answers when one night, Jackson would not eat, but he was screaming like a banshie. I tried to play with him, thinking he wasn't hungry. No, he continued crying. So I gave him some of his reflux medication, and he drank it like a hungry newborn pup. What is going on??? A few days later, I looked in his mouth while he was screaming and saw puffy, swollen gums. Aw hell. This is it. We're teething. Apparently sucking causes pain in the gums while they are teething. For this I promptly ordered two bottles of Hyland's teething tablets. Another mom friend of mine recommended rubbing them directly on the gums, which I did. Not that I would ever recommend administering anything with any variation from the directions on the label, I did and it worked wonders. They break up almost immediately, and in about ten minutes, he's eating like normal. My pediatrician recommended Orajel because "it's always better to use something topical rather than something they ingest," but when my baby is in pain, I'm doing what works if I have no reason not to.

Reason 2: Teething

These are the two reasons so far I've encountered for nursing strikes, but there are lots. Here are some links I've found helpful:

http://www.babycenter.com/0_nursing-strike_8490.bc
http://kellymom.com/bf/concerns/child/back-to-breast/
http://www.vitacost.com/hylands-baby-tiny-cold-tablets
https://winelibrary.com/  (Just saying...it's a stressful time. We all need a way to unwind.)

Where am I and How Did I Get Here?

Once upon a time, there was a poor, female college student who had no boyfriend, no family to speak of, and was a workaholic. This girl would talk to her friends about people they knew who "married rich" and was now a stay at home mom. She would wistfully say, "If my husband worked, and all I had to do was stay home with the kids, I would bend over backwards to make his life easier. Shit, he wouldn't have to cook, clean, get up at night. Being a stay-at-home-mom would be THA BOMB!" (Yes this was that long ago.)

Fast forward to, oh about a year ago. This former college student (now college graduate without a job in her field) is now three months pregnant and contemplating her impending life as a mother. If her parents taught her anything it was that balance is important to being a good parent. Oh yes, she would love her child and do anything for the little cutey, but her identity would still be equally as important. She'd never be one of those women who never lost the baby weight, whose roots are three inches long, doesn't wear make-up, and had shit stains (the baby's of course) on her pants. No, she would be a strong independent working mother. Have one day a week for herself. Wake up early to work out. Cuddle little baby Johnny or Janey to sleep, wake him or her up with a kiss in the morning, then lovingly kiss and hug him or her as she trotted of to further her career.

Fast forward to four months ago. Baby Johnny (actually Jackson) is two months old, and after having to be kept in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for two weeks directly after birth, the ex-college student, career woman extraordinaire (me) is sobbing all over her baby after her first day back at work. This is after nearly having to wrestle the baby out of my husbands hands because he wanted to hold Jackson so I could figure out dinner. It's kind of humiliating to cry so hard you're hyperventilating while snot is simultaneously steaming down your face and forming snot bubbles in front of the man who sees you naked, but I suppose that's what love is. At that moment we decided priority number one was me staying at home with my baby. Visions of infant art projects, Pinterest inspired creations, exotic cuisine, and strolling through the park with my little one filled my head. Eventually, by some act of God, my last day of work came and my first day of stay-at-home euphoria began.

And then reality smacked me in the ass.

Now as I am parked in front of the mirror because that is the only place Jackson feels like being to stare at his new best friend (himself), I see my grown out roots, my pudgy belly, and some unidentifiable brown substance on my shirt, I think...what the FUCK happened? When exactly am I suppeosed to put together my scrapbook? How am I supposed to stroll anywhere when this child screams when he's anywhere but in my arms? How do you sweep with a Baby Bjorn on? And cooking? That just sounds like an invitation to the burn unit with my baby. So that begs the question...what now? Is there a way to reconcile my fantasy life and the life I'm actually in?

Breastfeeding: The Unauthorized Story

My best friend, Stacy, just gave birth to a baby girl, and up until that point, she was asking me about breastfeeding. With her son, she had just pumped until he was about four months, when she "dried up." This time she wanted to do it the old fashioned way because pumping and bottle feeding is the worst of both worlds. This propelled me back to when I first started breastfeeding Jackson, and what a nightmare that was. He's now six months, and I swear if I were not so cheap, that baby would have been a formula baby, but I am so thankful I persisted.

It all started when Jax latched right on with an Dyson-rivaled suction that even impressed his pediatricians.

"OH, he's not tongue tied! He's quite the little sucker!" they would say.

"Tell me about it," I would respond as my nipple would ache just thinking about his torment. By the second day, I had a deep gash going across my nipple. The lactation consultant was even impressed. I guess there's a demographic for everything. "Breastfeeding is not supposed to hurt!" they would tell me. All the websites touted the same motto, spiraling me into a depression about not being fulfill the most basic of my child's needs correctly. Let me just put this out there; that is bullshit. Yeah in a perfect world, a first time mother and a newborn would know exactly how to latch without it being painful. But that's not how it works. It's new to the baby and it's new to you. That baby is only concerned with getting food; technique is secondary. So, until you have more experience with your baby, be patient, take your mind off of it, and load up on that sweet sweet percocet, because this is going to be a bumpy ride.

Secondly, no one explained to me the phenomenon of "Cluster Feeding." Though it's not really a phenomenon because we know the how and the why, I had never heard of it, and had no clue what I was in for. You see, as your milk is coming in, the baby's demand facilitates the production. Since you're producing so little at first, the baby is constantly on your teat. By constantly, I mean twelve hours at a time, usually overnight. No one explained this to me. My sweet little lactation consultant helped me position the baby and told me to feed him 15 minutes each side. So I did that, he went to sleep for a few hours. I set an alarm in my phone to feed him again in two hours and reclined serenely dozing while reflecting on what an awesome parent I was. Then our first night rolled around. That child screamed and screamed and screamed. I would feed him for a few minutes, he would fall asleep, I'd put him in the bassinet, and he would wake up and scream. He couldn't be hungry; I had fed him the prescribed 15 minutes per side.  At one point my husband was holding him in front of his torso like a sacrificial lamb, and looked at me with a face full of horror and said, "What have we done?" The next few nights went by like that--an endless cycle of 30 minute feedings, him dozing off, only to awake screaming as I try to put him in his bed. Yes, what have we done?

Finally, a few days into my nightmare, a petite, sweet-as-sugar nurse comes to check on me because they can hear my screaming baby from the nurse's station. I tell her my problem and she says, "Oh, I remember those days! Cluster feeding is awful!" Right. Cluster feeding. As soon as she leaves I grab my phone and google "cluster feeding." Seriously? Feeding for hours? I already felt like my nipples were going to fall off. They were already cracked and bloody. They want me to expose them to the enemy for HOURS at a time? As Jax started crying again, I hit the button for the nurse, popped a nipple in his mouth, and asked for more pain pills. The things you'll do to get your child to stop crying.

Lastly I had read articles about babies dying and being injured from co-sleeping and swore I would never put my baby in that position. I could go without sleep for my child's well being. Ha. Right. Finding a way to nurse while sleeping was the best thing I did. Jackson got the food he needed, and I got the sleep I needed.Now, it helps that the nursing/sleeping position is pretty uncomfortable to me, so I wake up regularly to check on him, and I make sure his head is always elevated. The following website illustrates the position I use, but I keep my arm down to elevate his head.

http://naturalparentsnetwork.com/side-lying-nursing-a-breastfeeding-tutorial/

In conclusion, I'm pretty shocked I stuck with breastfeeding. I was so uneducated and naive going in. Between friends who had been there and googling everything along the way, I made it through. I promised myself I would commit to six weeks and reassess the situation at that point. By six weeks I had no nipple pain, my son was on a schedule, and breastfeeding was second nature.