Thursday, December 2, 2010

Oh, the Booby Irony!

Arm=Not a Booby

On Breasts. I've become much more aware (along with the rest of my friends, family and Davis general public) of mine due to the fact that they have become my childs' food source. The fact that I am producing the same substance that I used to get from things that go "moo" seems awfully strange to me. As a woman you carry these things around for 20 odd years or so before you truly understand why on earth they are necessary. And then you very quickly come to understand why bottles are such popular devices. Before baby you wonder why so many women feed their children formula from day one. You think breastfeeding must be the most natural act of nature there is. Well here's a fun fact...IT IS SO NOT! And if you don't believe me look at the online posts from breastfeeding mothers. They beg and plead desperately for answers to relieve their breastfeeding woes. Their diction is that of a tortured creature begging for a timeline of relief to come. Many other moms reply with the number of weeks it took for breastfeeding to feel less like an indian burn blister of intense pain through 10 feedings a day. So you think to yourself - I can get through maybe 4 weeks of this, and you feel pity for the women who have gone 12 weeks in agony. Then you get to the 12 week mark and start to notice the maximum sentences given out on the online posts and start to whimper at the 16 weekers. And that's when I started my obsessive pondering of the word boob. I was conflicted from the very start of the first day that "boob" popped into my head. Interesting, very interesting, that boob is a term that describes both a breast and a lazy moronic person (and technically a bird with blue feet). At first I was insulted that the term is used for both because breasts work really hard to do what they do and on top of that they are eerily smart. Say your baby starts sleeping through the night - well your boobs learn to not produce milk at night. That's right, they learn! But then again I thought to myself, I kind of hate them because they are painful torture devices, so maybe in protest I'll just let them get lumped in with the brainless dum-dums of the world. However, I felt guilty for hating on my boobies and had to go looking for answers. And look I did but couldn't find a connection betwixt the two different boobs. That's when I came to understand that breasts and bozos are both boobs from different word origins. The World Online Dictionary defines "booby" as an ignorant or foolish person and that this term apparently arose from either the Spanish "bobo" that means stupid person or the Latin"balbus" that means stammering. Whereas linguists think the breast kind of booby originated from the German word "bubbi" which means teat. But then again, I wouldn't be surprised if the breast booby actually did originate from the stupid booby. I could just picture a woman barely getting through a torturous breastfeeding session yelling "I hate this boob!" And looking back you wouldn't know if she was just calling her breast a booby or calling her breast a booby. And therefore, I decided that it is ok to sometimes think my breasts are bobos when I can barely get my baby to choke down enough milk to sustain her through a nap. And at other times it is ok to think of my breasts fondly as bubbis while my little baby is dreamily, happily nursing herself into dreamland.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Our Contortionist Canine

I don't think Bella has ever slept in the same position twice and I've always wanted to share our contortionist canine with the rest of the world. Here are a few of her strange and sometimes surprising sleeping positions!

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

The Booby and the Blankie

Before little Molly came into the world I sat in my chair and thought "gee my legs are puffy." I also thought taking care of a newborn baby would be a nice and relaxing bout of sleeping and eating. "Ha ha!" I thought, I like eating and sleeping hard can this possibly be? Those who have babies currently or have had babies are now smirking and or exclaiming "tee hee." Molly was born on September 11th after exactly 24 hours of labor, including 3 hours of pushing. I don't know how, but I've already forgotten what contractions actually felt like but I do remember saying "please, please, please" to the midwife as though she could excuse me from labor like a parent can excuse you from the dinner table. "If you have three more contractions, you can be excused." Two things got me through labor. First, my midwife reminded me of Tina Fey which made me really happy despite the pain. Second, there is nothing you can do about being in labor except to get through labor. However, the beautiful surprise was that once I began pushing, the contractions were no longer painful. Hallelujah! And push I did. I pushed like I was in a Dr. Seuss novel titled "Push in Your Tush." I pushed on the can. I pushed like a man. I pushed on a bed. I pushed on my head. I pushed laying down. I pushed with a frown. And all throughout the 3 hours of pushing, Matt was yelling "push, push, push...we only have such and such an amount of time before September 11th rolls around." I would just look at him and think to myself "is this guy serious?" But little Molly absolutely, positively did NOT want to be born on the 10th because as soon as that clock struck midnight on the 11th, little Molly's head popped right out.

We stayed in the hospital for one blissful day that made me think I was right and that this baby thing was indeed going to be an easy affair. People constantly brought us food, icy drinks, and pain meds. Nursing was painless and the baby slept blissfully for hours when she wasn't nursing perfectly. The bed even tilted up into the perfect position to nurse in when I wasn't sleeping. And then we came home. The bed no longer tilted, the baby no longer slept (in fact she seemed to be eating 24 hours a day), and breastfeeding became a searingly painful battle at the booby. Molly loved my left breast (termed ole reliable) but was convinced that my right breast was a demon from hell sent to poison her. She would wriggle and writhe and gnash at my right breast to the point that I would swear I had mistakenly grabbed an alligator to breastfeed. I was right in that newborns sleep and eat constantly. However, they do this in what seems like a 30 minute 30 minute rotation...30 minutes of eating followed by 30 minutes of sleeping. Having to sit in a chair to feed a baby on a painful nipple for 30 minutes is exhausting. Having to do this after having only 30 minute naps in between is debilitating. However, what is so amazing is that despite all the craziness, you can't stop thanking the heavens for such an incredible, beautiful, perfect little gift. Even when you only get 30 minutes to sleep, you still wake up to stare at your angel baby as though she could disappear if you stopped staring. You make up songs for your little baby to try to express how much love you feel for her. You memorize her beautiful little ears, and the way she looks when she is peacefully eating despite the pain in your breasts. And eventually you figure out how it all works and breastfeeding slowly gets a little less difficult. And you figure out that daddy has magical baby soothing powers. As soon as Molly is in daddy's arms she is sleepy and blissfully happy. And before you know it you have become parental super-heros known as the Booby and the Blankie.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Beast of Burden

While working at the goat dairy I used to think the way we handled pregnant goat ladies was a little rough. The vet would come around to ultrasound swollen bellies to find little kid hearts-a-beating one day every year. In an assembly line fashion we would grab goats and practically throw them to the vet who would quickly jab bellies with the ultrasound wand in order to find a small flicker of a new little heart in order to confirm a pregnancy. Thank goodness I'm a human I would think to myself - I'll be treated so much more decently when I'm pregnant. Ha ha - wrong. My hubby and I walked into our first preggo confirmation appointment beaming; ready to be handed a medal and a cookie for doing what all the other cajillions of organisms on earth have also figured out how to do. So, Matt sits in a little chair off to the side as I lay belly up on a sterile table with my feet in the good ole stirrups covered with "Raider" and "49er" covers. This should have been my first clue that maybe we weren't in for much better than a goat poke. What woman wants to be saddled up with football themed leg spreaders while their husbands sit awkwardly in the gallery. Anyways, there we are goofily smiling at each other when our doctor walks in gloved and gooed. Then hubby and I both simultaneously gasp as I am rudely poked not-so-externally without warning. Both horrified the doctor then exclaims "Feels Pregnant!" exuberantly. Hubby then nearly chokes on spittle as he can't contain a sudden outburst of laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. TOTAL GOAT POKE! I quickly realize that I have officially begun my time as beast of burden - feeling like just another knocked up creature that will be poked unceremoniously by a medical professional to confirm that a viable kid exists. To date things with the OBGYNS (or Obgoblins as I have decided to term them) have not improved. Without words they point to the cold metal table, slap ya down, measure your belly and poke the baby to confirm a sustained viable kiddo exists. The "bing machine" monty python birthing skit is becoming less and less unrealistic. For a special treat, beginning in your 8th month, they begin to grab your child's head and wiggle it around. This feels oh so special and you can feel the baby respond with a violent jerking "what the" reaction. Can't blame the kid - cause I know I love it when people suddenly grab my noggin and roughly wiggle it around. How do you think you might respond? *SMACK* might be a good way to go. All I have to say is thank goodness for friends, family, midwives, hypno-birthing instructors, prenatal yoga instructors, and random hippies who treat you like the baby-making earth goddess of creation you really are. Even if all you did is figure out how to do what cajillions of other creatures have already figured out how to do ;)