pregnancy, the breast things in life are free

Meet Harry and Sally

November 11, 2009

The only thing I remember from my French lessons besides je ne parle pas francais is the fact that everything french is either male or female. The french are smart because they know stuff like how a doormat is indisputably male. But for me, it has always been a pain to figure out what stuff is masculine or feminine.

I’ve finally figured it out though. My boobs – they’re both. My right boob is a dude and my left one is a chick. It’s been puzzling me for a while now, and eureka! I’ve got it.

Everyone, meet Harry and Sally.

See, all this time that I’ve been expressing milk, I’m thinking that there’s a central milk storage system that channels all the milk to one side or the other. Like how if you tilt an hourglass, all the sand falls to the side that’s lower.

I usually start off with the right side. Let’s call him Harry. I go for 30 minutes on the pump and I get about 100ml. Harry is oozing with testosterone and always ready to go. Basically, it’s a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am no nonsense affair. Get in, get out and he’s done. And I always know when he’s done because there will be a steady flow of milk all the way till it almost completely stops. That’s my cue to switch sides.

The left boob, she’s definitely a lady. When it’s Sally’s turn, it’s a little different. I used to do the same thing – 30 minutes on the pump but I only get 30ml. At first I thought, oh, ok maybe all the milk has flowed over to the right side and there’s no more left. Then I googled it and turns out, no. Each boob gets its own reserve of milk. So what up, Sally? What are you doing with all that milk?

I decided that Sally was spoilt (I mean spoilt like broken, not spoilt like throwing a tantrum) but hey, at least I still have one good boob so I should be thankful. All this while, I’ve been assuming Sally was retarded but now I find out that she’s actually a woman.

Which is to say, she can’t be hurried. She’s perfectly capable of producing plenty of milk, but she’s a little shy. She needs to have Kenny G in the background, some candles, a back rub and whispers of sweet nothings. You’ve got to treat her right before she gets in the mood. And here’s the awesome thing. Once she’s there, she can keep going and going and going. Seriously, once she’s on a roll, SHE DOES NOT STOP.

I had a little experiment yesterday and after an hour, she’s still producing milk. I did 150ml on that one boob alone.

Now I’m smarter and I’ve got a system going. During the day when the kids are thronging me, Harry steps up and does his thing. 30 minutes and bingo. Then after the kids are asleep and I’ve got more time on my hands, Sally gets her turn so she doesn’t feel neglected. How do you say awesome in french?

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kids inc, motherhood

I call this quid pro quo

November 10, 2009

Just when this motherhood thing seems like it is as good as it gets, it suddenly gets better when you least expect it and it makes you feel all woggly inside.

Moments like these make you remember why you wanted to be a mom in the first place. When these moments come knocking, I write it down so that when it gets really bad and I feel like stabbing someone with a fork, I make myself take deep breaths and read it over and over again until I feel my blood pressure come back down.

Kirsten: please don't crush me

Kirsten: please don't crush me

Kirsten: now I will eat your brains

Kirsten: now I will eat your brains

1. Tru saying I love you for the first time. I tell him that about 500 times a day and I just assumed it was too difficult to say. He was busy doing his rounds in the living room one day when he walked over to me, cocked his head to one side and said I love you in the sweetest little baby voice. It could have been I need more cookies, but I’m almost certain he *meant* I love you.

2. Watching the kids and hug and kiss each other. Most of the time, Tru squeezes Kirsten too hard and makes her shriek but deep down inside, she really loves the attention from her big brother. It’s probably a shriek of delight.

3. Snuggly time. I put both kids together on my bed and tumble around and hug them real tight until they turn a little blue before I let them pause for air. Rinse and repeat.

4. Hearing Kirsten giggle. She’s got a deep, rumbly chuckle for such a sweet little baby. The only thing that sets her off is when Daddy goes “Ooohhhhhhhh” in her face. (Doesn’t work for mama) It’s terribly lame and there’s nothing funny about that but she clearly thinks it’s hilarious.

5. When Tru offers me the last piece of his favorite biscuit. He’s probably figured out that we’ll give him 2 more pieces extra for “sharing” so when he’s down to his last one, he needs to make it multiply. Still, brownie points for offering it to me.

6. No matter how awful she feels, baby girl will always stop and flash me a smile whenever I pick her up.

7. Surprise hugs. Makes me feel oh-so-special.

8. Group hugs. Right after we high-five and chest-bump each other.

9. Doing the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Hot Dog dance with Tru in the living room. He also rocks the same moves to Lady Gaga. It’s a riot.

10. When he suddenly breaks into song and makes me follow his lead. Usually I have no idea what he’s singing so I just go watermelon, watermelon and it always works.

Some days you wonder what could possibly make being a mother worth it. I must be a raving lunatic to trade my entire life for a couple of baby giggles and snuggles. Then they surprise you and you know you really did get the better end of the bargain.

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motherhood, not feeling so supermom

Someday I’ll sleep again

November 9, 2009

Sleep is one of the most underrated things in life. You don’t think about it and you take it for granted because it’s always there. Until it’s not. I used to think it was all a matter of mental strength. Pull 3 straight all-nighters in a row partying my guts out? No problemo. I’ll just make up for it the next day. Mind over matter.

Before I gave birth, every parent I met told me the same thing. Get as much sleep as you can now, because you will never sleep again. I was all like “Unlike you weaklings, I don’t actually need sleep. I’m like the Terminator. All I need is my doppio espresso and I’m good to go. Besides, I can always sleep when the baby is asleep.”

Now first of all, there is no such thing as sleeping when the baby sleeps. Their sleep patterns are about as predictable as a chick with PMS. Just when they fall soundly asleep and you think “here’s my chance” and snuggle up nice and comfy in your bed and allow yourself to drift off to dreamland, they suddenly pounce. Then you feel the cold, heartless hands of reality yank you back to a world where the baby is screaming and there is no rest for the weary. That is by far the most wretched feeling in the whole world.

So the next time, you down yet another shot of espresso and sit by the bed waiting for the baby to wake up. This time, I’m prepared, you tell yourself. And the baby decides it’s time to sleep for 5 hours straight. While you sit there with a bottle of warm milk in hand waiting for the crying to start any moment now. Only it doesn’t start. That is next most wretched feeling in the world.

After a few rounds of this happening, you lose it a little and start hearing voices in your head. Imaginary screams are a mother’s occupational hazard.

Your only chance of getting any sleep is at night, after the baby has learnt to sleep through the night. At first, you’ll be like “Woohoo00… 8 hours of night time sleep” and you’re doing your victory lap around the house thinking that your life will finally go back to normal. Except it doesn’t. 2 of those 8 hours will be spent expressing milk. And in the remaining 6 hours, they’ll surprise you with random cries just for the fun of it. “Aha, gotcha again, sucker! Now wake up and do back flips to amuse me because it’s the middle of the night and I need some entertainment to help me sleep.”

The result? Even when you do get to sleep, it’s a pathetic excuse for sleep. As a parent, you have to master the art of pseudo-sleeping. It’s far more painful to be rudely awakened from a deep sleep, the kind where you dream that you’re a James Bond on a mission to save the world. Eventually, you learn to sleep without really sleeping. You go into screensaver mode instead of shutting down.

As a reward for my services, the husband has valiantly agreed to send me on a 48-hour hibernation expedition. It will consist of me checking into the Ritz alone for 2 days just to sleep. There’s no way I’ll get any real sleep at home with the kids trying to pry open my eyelids and jabbing things into my ears.

I’m going to curl up in bed with a large cup of hot chocolate, read a nice book and do nothing but sleep for 2 whole days. It’s going to be awesome.

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