Blythe loves food. Not in a “Sure, I’ll have some of that” way, but in a “Gimme that now, or the monkey gets it” sort of way. For a while she was satisfied with pureed vegetables, beans or whatever. As long as she got to have something put in her mouth with a spoon, like the rest of us, she was happy. But now she’s had a taste of the good stuff, grown folks food. Little pieces of what we’re having can’t be eaten fast enough, so these days I just put it in the food mill for a minute and plop it on her tray. Her eyes get big, her hands shake, and she shoves as many handfuls into her mouth as possible. When finished, she leans back in her chair, covered in slop, and has a look on her face that can only say, “Mmmmm, gooooooood. Me want more.” Her favorite, so far, is chicken and dumplings followed closely by last night’s dinner, fettuccine primavera. Alison prefers hers without sauce, but Blythe is all about the creamy tastiness. And yes, she actually sneezed fettuccine later.
Author: Dre
Categories
Pasties, perhaps
Blythe is a nipple biter. Not just an occasional biter, but an all the time, every time biter. She’ll bite till I bleed. She’ll bite so that I have to ram a finger into her mouth to pry her jaws apart. Telling her “no” (like the books say) just makes her laugh and do it again.
It was getting painful, so for the past couple of months I’ve been pumping every 3 hours and giving her a bottle. I’ve learned how to do just about everything while pumping. In fact, I’m pumping right now! It’s going really well, although she does wake to nurse at least once in the night. Half-asleep Blythe bites less often than fully-alert Blythe, apparently.
But oh, my poor nipples. The pump sucks them out so far, so often, that they are starting to stay that way. Formula is a lost cause (she can detect even a sprinkle of it in her food), so I’ve got at least another 4 months of this battery-operated suction action. Here I am with these big ol’ stretched out, scabby nips. Maybe band-aids will push them back in?
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I’m crushed
John Iriving has been my favorite author for at least a decade. Before that, I think I liked a lot of authors but never had a real favorite, I’m just too particular. My favorite book of all time (of course by Irving) has been A Prayer for Owen Meany, followed closely by The World According to Garp (yep, also Irving) for as long as I can remember. I’ve read them both a dozen times. My least favorite of his books is his memoir, The Imaginary Girlfriend, because I guess I just didn’t want to know that much about him. Like the way a guy must feel in the morning after taking home a one-night stand and finding out she takes the short bus or something. The whole thing feels a bit tainted. But I hung in there, after all I am a long-time fan.
Last year when I was forcing myself to rest, I read all of the Irving books I have here in the house, back-to-back. Big mistake, because it left me feeling a bit over-exposed, for lack of a better expression. I didn’t like Garp as much, I was totally annoyed by the dad in Until I find You, as well as with Doris in The Fourth Hand. And I was suddenly unwilling to believe that teenagers would flock to Hester the Molester’s music in A Prayer for Owen Meany. What was the matter with me, that I was no longer left with a warm fuzzy feeling after reading an Irving book? I do still love Owen Meany, but maybe I’ll read it a bit less often (which is to say, once every 5 years rather than every 2).
I just find it pompous (on Irving’s part) to assume that the rest of the world (OK, just the characters in the world of the book) would continue to basically WORSHIP the characters in the book for YEARS, decades even – usually the main character, but sometimes not. Pretty much whoever ends up kicking the bucket. I think I used to find it endearing, even hopeful. But now I find it utterly unrealistic. It makes me roll my eyes. Am I becoming a cynic? Eek. So rather than just realizing Irving is human, combined with the memoir, I just don’t like him as a person anymore. And how can he be my favorite if I don’t even like him?
Now I have to go about finding a new favorite author. I just can’t let Irving have the title anymore, I’m afraid. I like the Harry Potter series by JK Rowling. I admit, I’m addicted, even though until October of last year I thought Potterheads were wack-jobs and swore I’d never read a Harry Potter book or see a Harry Potter movie. Basically I’m just anti anything that mainstream. Although, I am glad it’s gotten kids back into reading books, but that doesn’t mean I have to read them. But my sister lent me books 1-6 and after reading 1-4 back to back, I had to pace myself and just finished reading 5. I’m itching to read 6 but I’ve got so much stuff to DO! And, I’m already sad that there are only 2 left. So Rowling sounds like a contender, right, but I can’t go with her – I have to know how she writes other characters. Maeve Binchy used to be one of my favorites, but I just read The Whitethorn Woods and although it was a good read, I just wasn’t that into it. I like Gregory Maguire (of his I’ve read Lost, Wicked, Son of a Witch, Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister) but I made the mistake of re-reading Wicked and Son of a Witch back to back and there are too many glaring errors to have him be a favorite. You’d think HE would have re-read Wicked before writing Son of a Witch so that he didn’t make so many fumbles in the story line.
Ooooooh, actually I think it’s a tie between Maya Angelou and David Sedaris. Hmmm. I think I’ll have to have a read-off and figure out which one comes out on top.
Categories
That kid’s got a HUGE noggin
I was gone for most of this morning which is a total rarity. I had to go to Sam’s club because the dogs were completely out of biscuits, and the outside cats were having to eat the diet “senior” cat food for the indoor cats, and were complaining loudly about it. I got home and Jeremy was there, he’d been with one of our pygmy goats, Joy, who had been laboring when I left. He’d had to cut out her first kid because it had died and Joy was struggling for a long time to get it out. The second baby was there with it’s little face in the birth canal, licking Jeremy’s fingers when he poked around in there. But he just couldn’t get it out, it’s hooves were not in the dive position and Joy’s hips were too small for Jeremy to reach in and reposition it. I was able to get the hooves repositioned, but its head was just too big. Poor Joy was so uncomfortable and I had to keep putting my hand back in there to move things to try and get the baby out. I know exactly how it feels to have someone’s hand up your uterus, so I kept apologizing – but it had to be done. Finally, we decided we’d have to cut it out. It had died already anyway (too long with the amniotic sac broken), and Joy was in agony trying to deliver it. Afterward, Joy laid her head in my lap and I just petted her and talked to her quietly. It was obvious that she felt better just having it over with and I felt just awful for not having been able to help her more.
We decided that we’re going to sell our pygmy’s now, because lately it seems like more die than live. We introduced a new buck to the herd about a year and a half ago, and since then things have just been going all wrong. The rest will probably go to auction, but I’m going to find a home for Joy where there won’t be any chance of her being bred again. Her hips are so small, I could hardly even get my hand in there around the baby – and when she contracted, her hips squeezed the baby back in rather than pushing it out. Going through that with her, I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what a complicated labor was like back in the day. It makes me cringe just to think about it!
Anyone want a sweet little pygmy doe?
Categories
Happy Feet
This morning I was rushing to get ready for the day… it’s my first “real” work day, with a babysitter and everything all scheduled, since Jeremy and I decided to open our plumbing business. Anyway. Part of my day was supposed to include going to Curves since I haven’t been in something like 3 weeks and my belly is already getting squishy again. Although, I’m sure the ice cream, cake, fudge, and whatever else I shoved down my throat over the holidays helped. Oh, and maybe that whole bag of mini-snickers. so ANWAY. I went to put on my running shoes and I felt something really weird in both of them. I walked a few steps, thinking I’d just check it later (it didn’t feel like a rock or anything, and I really was in a hurry) but then I thought, DANG that feels weird! So I stopped, took them off and fished out whatever-it-was from the toe of my left shoe. Alison, my sweet little girl, had told me just yesterday that the dr. scholl’s gel things (are YOU gellin’?) she found in my closet weren’t “put away”. We’re working on putting things away where they go, so I told her to put them away, then! Apparently “put away” is in the toes of my running shoes! Over breakfast I told here I had found them there, and informed her that they were actually daddy’s, and she said, “But Mommy, I wanted YOU to have happy feet!”
What a wonderful start to my day!