Baby Spartan's Mom

My daughter already knows how to use a BlackBerry, navigate Facebook and Tweet like a pro.

She’s 10 months old.

I get overwhelmed by this stuff. I used to be on top of everything, but somewhere along the way I became an old geezer. I blame it on the technology explosion of the last few years.

That and giving birth.

I think part of my brain stayed in the hospital to enjoy a nice little respite from servicing me. Poor thing was simply exhausted. However, I’ve recently received a report that she’s recovering nicely now. I think she’s somewhere in the south of France. She sends postcards from time to time. Not sure if I’ll ever see her again ~ probably best this way…I was growing weary of her demanding nature.

{I digress}

I used to be the “tech guru” at work…I could fix anything. But this was when fax machines, typewriters and large industrial-sized printers were still the norm in offices. Not personal computers…let alone cell phones that do everything short of going on blind dates for you, all the while fitting neatly in your back pocket. Very Star Trek if you ask me.

This is what I get for making fun of a coworker in the early 90’s when she asked me why the fax machine wasn’t working because her paper came out the other side of the machine. “I keep putting it in and it keeps coming right back out!” She expressed to me impatiently. As if the fax machine magically vaporized the paper and transported it from Chicago through the netherworld and out to the recipient in Texas.

I enjoyed a nice hearty laugh about that for the next six months at her expense, repeatedly recounting the story to anyone who would listen.

Karma sucks.

Words of advice when making your own babyfood…

Number 1. Don’t forget to turn off the oven when you leave the house to get your hair done. You just might ruin the organic squash you were cooking up for your little love bug. (Not to mention it’s a fire hazard.)

B. Avoid leaving the carrots sitting out in the food processor overnight. And…if and when you DO leave them out, remember to take the blade OUT of the food processor before tossing said carrots in the trash the next day. This will force you to use a blender to process your baby food the next time. Which I don’t recommend. It’s a pain in the @!#.

3. It might be wise to refrain from biting off the head of the Baby-daddy for “carelessly” throwing out said food processor blade while cleaning the fish tank, before retracing your sleep-deprived steps to remember EXACTLY when you made the tragic error yourself.

{sigh}

Oh well, it was a good run. Back to jarred food for now.

Some people are just better at this stuff than others I guess…I’ll always be one of the "others". Thank god my daughter doesn't judge me for being neurotic mom.

My daughter no longer wants the boob in the morning. I am devastated.

It is such an intimate act ~ nourishing my child with my own body. Think about it. It truly is a miracle. How our fleshy bag of bones “knows” how to do anything at all is a mystery. I’m really going to miss that cuddle time with her before getting out of bed.

We came a long way though. When she was newborn, she didn’t latch on at all. I spent hours crying and feeling completely worthless as a mother. Combine that with the overwhelming surge of postpartum hormones, lack of sleep resulting from a two-day labor and the inability to sit down without feeling like my chair was a medieval torture device…and you have the perfect ingredients for a complete meltdown. I couldn’t understand WHY my baby wouldn’t take my boob. Was it my bad breath? Ratty hair? The fact that all I wore in those first few insane weeks was a bath robe? I blamed myself. Then I yelled at her father.

After breaking down in the lobby at the Pump Station, a lactation consultant who was passing by in an attempt to exit the premises immediately turned around and whisked me into a private room…I suspect to prevent me from horrifying any of the preggos wandering around the store lest they hold on to the fantasy that becoming a new mother is going to be all sunshine and puppies in a basket.

She was AMAZING. Spent 10 minutes with us and changed my life. I thought babies popped out with magical powers: knowing how to breastfeed, bathe themselves and change their own diapers. Apparently my daughter was traumatized as much as I during the birth experience because she didn’t know anything when she came out. Baby horses (otherwise known as foals) walk minutes after birth. What is wrong with us? Humans rely on their mothers longer than any other species for survival. Turns out, some babies have to LEARN how to breastfeed. Yeah. Who would have thunk it? I was so jealous of my friends who never owned a pump. Breastfeeding was so “easy breezy” for them. {Grrr}

Anyway...Lia didn’t breastfeed for every feeding, but we eventually got into a nice little groove. She was on breast milk for 8 solid months (mostly by pumping), but since then my supply has slowly dwindled to nothing. I gotta say…pumping was a pain in the arse and I expressed my displeasure openly to the Baby-daddy any chance I could get. I’d really grown weary of it. There is no joy in hooking yourself up to a giant suction machine 3 to 5 times a day. I felt like nothing more than a cow in slippers. But now that I have my freedom again...I’m very sad. Oh the irony.

So here we are 10 months later. My baby girl is already growing up so fast and showing signs of independence. While I packed up my pump equipment today, I had a little panic attack. It’s really hitting me hard. I can’t imagine what it’s like for women who actually get to breastfeed the entire time when they wean. I guess everyone is different though, so my feelings are not going to be the same as the next mommy. But it’s pretty intense for me.

{Big Sad Face}

I guess I better get used to it. Before long she’ll be going off to school, then to college, overseas adventures, and probably to the moon by the time she’s 25.

And there’s nothing I can do about it…but watch her, guide her, comfort her, celebrate with her, and be the best mom I can be.

To make myself feel better for yesterday’s bra incident…I let my inner rock star out of hibernation.

Mini-me and I donned appropriate attire and rocked out to Juke Box Hero this morning.

I feel better already...

















Yo...'sup?

Have any other sleep-deprived moms out there ever gotten dressed only to realize that they’ve put their BRA on inside out? Seriously, I need to know if this has ever happened to anyone else…I feel like I’m losing my mind some days. People put socks on inside out all the time…tee-shirts…I’d even go so far as to say underwear…

But a BRA?!? I mean…WHO does that?

Come on!

I used to be a pretty cool person. At least I thought so. But what have I turned in to??? I go to bed at 9pm, perpetually wash baby bottles, spend my days singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” to a Lilliputian who is not a very discerning critic (she would squeal with delight and wildly applaud if I acted out the Gettysburg Address) -- and now I’ve deteriorated into a woman who wears sweat pants all day, suffers from perpetual “bad hair”, and straps on her oh-so-attractive nursing bra inside out.

Mmmm. That’s sexy. Baby-daddy is one lucky fellow. Yessiree Bub…I’m SMOKIN!

Is there a support group for this disorder…Chronic MOM Disease?

There has got to be an easier way to keep my daughter’s fingernails neatly trimmed. She squirms like an octopus in heat whenever I try and I end up making them worse! At 9 months, with her newly developed vice-grip hands and tiny razorblades at the end of each finger, she turns my arms into hamburger meat…and sometimes her own face, which freaks me out when she wakes up from a nap with a fresh, self-induced wound next her eye. I hate to leave the house for fear someone will scream “Abuse!” Causing me to run down the street like a madwoman while Lia bounces up and down in her stroller, giggling like crazy, thinking “Weeeee! This is fun Mommy!” All the while smiling at me with her four teeth and prizefighter eye. Poor thing.

I wish I could take her to a "Baby Groomer." How easy would that be? Just like dogs! Once a week: shampoo hair, trim nails, brush teeth…hell, you could even throw in a couples massage and make it a spa day for mommy and baby. That would be a great business.

Wait.

That is just wrong on so many levels. It’s 8:00 am and I’m already exhausted.