Friday, December 24, 2010

just what you wanted for Christmas: breast pump poetry.

Inspired by true events of about two weeks ago.
I am not making this up.

Twas a few weeks post-partum, when all through the house
The mom, baby napping, unbuttoned her blouse.
The pump had been unpacked, her nipples so red,
It seemed like the time to try this thing instead.

The baby was nestled all snug in her bed,
While visions of mom's breasts danced in her head.
And mamma sat reading directions galore,
from the pump she had purchased at Baby Box Store.

She connected the pieces, she plugged the pump in,
And sat at the table, ready to begin.
"My own dairy farm," she smiled, stuck the flange on her breast
And settled in - now, let the pump do the rest.

When what to her wondering ears should then ring,
but the bloody damn doorbell!  Listening,
she thought she'd ignore it, and then realized
It's prob'ly FedEx.  They won't compromise.

They'll take that good package and return it so fast,
they'll make us drive all the way out to their warehouse, out past
the mall and the traffic and shoppers, oh my;
might as well get the door now, she sighed.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
she whipped that pump off ("Ouch," she said, with a frown)
And carefully put the milk bottles down.

She pulled up her shirt and she ran to the door
As the engine on FedEx Guy's truck gave a roar.
"No, wait!" she cried, grabbed the box, and signed with a smile,
Got back in the house and looked down for awhile,

Realizing she had on old pj's, with a stain
That was clearly the milk squirting out.  What a pain.
So she dashed back to pump, hooked herself up again
and settled back in to finish what she'd begun.

And then in a twinkling she heard it once more-
The doorbell.  AGAIN.  "How is this?" the mom roared;
there's been no one to visit for days at a time!
Why now?  Why again?  Don't they know I'm all primed?

But Christmas is coming, and she's shopped all online
Which means packages show up at any old time.
So she pulled the pump off, nipples stretched out so far
they might never return.  Will they fit in the bra?

Twas the postman this time, his dimples so merry,
his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
She grabbed the box quickly, ran back inside,
and hooked it all up again, for just one more try.

Alas - not to be this time, the nipples are done.
Two times interrupted is not so much fun.
She packed it all up.  She'll try again later.
She's learned one thing for sure, lessons here to be shared:

If FexEx or postman you seek to arrive,
wishing a box to your home they would drive;
just hook up your breast pump and pull down your top -
they'll be there in moments, and you'll have to stop.

And you'll hear them exclaim, 'ere they drive out of sight;
"Happy pumping to all, and to all a good night."

Happy Holidays to all.

From someone who occasionally has a little too much time on her hands.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

just because

Just because sometimes, when you have put clean pajamas and a sleeper on this cute girl, and then realized you forgot the nighttime (i.e. disposable) diaper, so you change it real quick, and then hear her completely fill it with poop, and so you are changing real quick again into nighttime diaper number two, during which she completely shits all over said diaper, pajamas, sleeper, changing table cover, and mom's hand...

the face still makes you smile.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

rubber, meet road.

Well.  It's been a fussy day at this house.  One of those days when I have to concentrate hard and think about being in the RE's office, or undergoing the IVF retrieval or transfer, or all the times I cried after getting my period, and remember how much I wanted this very beloved, adorable, fussyfussyfussyfussy girl in my arms.

She's not normally like this (and right now she's "sleeping" - as in, resting her eyes until he takes his finger out of her mouth and she starts crying again - with her dad, giving me a blessed few moments to myself).  So maybe my tolerance level for fussiness is not as high as others' might be.  We did have a good morning; we went out (woohoo! out of the house!) and got her photo taken with Santa which, if I might say so myself, is freaking ADORABLE.  We did a few other errands.  And then we got home, and...

F-U-S-S-Y.  For no reason whatsoever.  Hungry?  No.  Dirty diaper?  No.  Gas?  Maybe, but who can tell?  Tired?  Probably, but you can't force sleep on people.  (Although you can close your eyes and try to will people into sleep, but I have found this method unsuccessful so far.)

She's a pretty easy baby in the grand scheme of things, but even "easy" babies are a lot of work.

I feel the need to include all the standard disclaimers: I love her, she's worth every second of frustration, I wouldn't trade it for the world...but, let's face it.  Fussy babies are no fun.  Sometimes, I simply remind myself: today is just one day.  Tomorrow is another day.

Parenting advice from Scarlett O'Hara.  Might not be the best idea.