Tag: It’s a boy

Momversation: Breasts

http://blip.tv/play/gew+6epGkOIX

First circumcision, now breast feeding. Hoo-eee! This Momversation gig has been interesting, because it’s all stuff I generally wouldn’t think to discuss online. I just added a comment over there about how I don’t really know anyone who chose to just go straight to the bottle. If you did or plan to, I’m interested to hear your reasoning.

In other news, that screencap of Rebecca is golden.

Update: Two commenters at the Momversation site made great points:

1. Ces lasalle pointed out that you can make formula, which blew my mind. I’d never heard of that before. She says:

“I pumped for six weeks and supplemented with a homemade formula, a concoction my mother helped me make based on a book by Adele Davis. It had goat’s milk, yeast, plain yogurt, lecithin, cod liver oil and a high quality infant vitamin in it. He loved it,thrived on it and still drinks it 5.5 years later instead of regular milk.”

2. Patty has the perfect response to people who ask why you’re not breastfeeding:

“When people ask (and boy howdy they did!) why I wasn’t nursing I just said “medical reasons” and let them wonder.”

Genius.

WWGD?

So, I bought a video by Gwyneth Paltrow’s trainer, Tracy Anderson. I did this as part of my efforts to optimize, but also because I am over thirty. When you turn thirty, the mind-police arrive, flash this thing in your eyes, and suddenly you feel compelled to do anything Gwyneth Paltrow recommends.

(Related aside: I cannot stop talking about the things I saw on Oprah. As I will myself to shut up, I can hear my mouth charging ahead with enthralling anecdotes about the Olsen twins’ business philosophies (shut up!), extending your passion to the world (shut! up!), and S-shaped bowel movements (ohmydeargod, shut up!). It’s gotten so bad that I decided I had to stop mentioning Oprah’s name in conversation. So now I say, “I saw this thing on… TV about how your poop is supposed to be S-shaped?” And all the women around me nod knowingly.)

Anyway, I got the post-partum workout video even though I have a two year old, because the stuff I want to change about my body is mostly related to pregnancy. Also, I am weak as a hairless kitten. I have trouble summoning the muscle power to type this, and I try to reserve what little strength I have for lifting forkfuls of cheesy pasta to my lips. Taxing, that.

So I decided to start off slowly and build my workout confidence! I watched the video on fast forward, and Tracy barely seemed to move. Nearly all the exercises are on the mat, and supine is my preferred exercise position. Let’s do this thing!

I unrolled my mat, grabbed my weights, turned the video on, and ten minutes later I felt a grave uncertainty settle in. Holy mother of Mallowmar, people. I couldn’t safely complete the first section, let alone the whole video. Fifteen minutes in I was doing that crazed heyena whimper-laugh, closely followed by the rabbit death keen.

I had resolved to try it for seven straight days, but by the second day I couldn’t rise from a reclined position. I also couldn’t hold my head upright, and my tongue felt all achy. I stopped after the second workout in self defense, but a strange thing happened, dear reader. As my stomach fibers began to recongeal, I could see a difference! After two workouts! Bryan concurs that I am not hallucinating.

And so I’ve decided, again, to go at it for a week. Let’s see how this turns out. Please wave if you see me crawling on the sidewalk.

Change of Heart

Hank is on our bed, playing with his wooden double-decker bus. He shakes it back and forth as the little wooden people clatter inside. Suddenly, he dumps the passengers out, shakes every last one from its seat, and surveys the wooden bodies strewn across the bed sheets. Hank pauses, frowns, and says,

“You OK guys? … Need help?”

Where’d I put my flask?

Something unusual happened this morning. When Bryan left for work, Hank sobbed and clung to him. When I left, he barely looked up. I said bye. I kissed him. I hugged him. He just pushed me away and kept playing with his train.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have entered the fabled Daddy phase. For a while there, I didn’t believe it existed, this period where Hank would want Daddy to cuddle, Daddy to feed him, Daddy to read, Daddy to go to the park, Daddy to change his diaper. Not Mom-Mom, Daddy. DADDY. Hank! Said! Daddddeeeeeeee!

Road trip, anyone?