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Monday, April 12, 2004

And proud of it.

I have never been so proud of a group of people I have never met.

Honestly, I am astounded at the words that are about to spill from my keyboard… but I seriously would trust certain people I have met through blogging with my life, and possibly my children, too (though these ladies might steal them… not), to say nothing of a blog during a week’s absence (well, as long as my friends have arranged for a janitor and sage smudge before I got back).

Julie has returned, and with a vengence, and her wrath is just. And wicked funny.

Monday, April 12, 2004

Me, Me, Me

Well, I’ve finally ~~gotten a start on~~ finished my 100 Things. Have at it!

Oh, and this is for Buzz, who likes photos of everyday things:

UPDATE: re Jilbur’s question… this pic is about a year old (notice the henna tattoos on my hand!). Sorry, I was feeling like shit on a shingle yesterday and didn’t take any pictures, let alone appear in any.

Saturday, April 10, 2004

Me, Me, Me

This is not something I thought I’d post about, but a confluence of events seems to indicate that it’s time.

It’s also not something I think you’ll all be thrilled to read, so if you’re uncomfortable with attachment parenting or extended breastfeeding, move along…

So, I was just putzing around when I started emailing with Genuine about my wine-and-chocolate dessert, and his wife asked me to hoist one for her, and I said, are you kidding? By the third pregnancy, I was hoisting my own.

This dovetails with the conversation I had with the doctor today while determining the proper prescription for me. He started to write an Rx for one antibiotic, when he looked up and asked if I was by any chance nursing. “Technically, yes. But not much. I can have amoxycillin, keflex, or augmentin.”

He looked at me skeptically and began to thumb through his little med reference booklet. *sigh* “My OBGYN has prescribed all of those for me before, even while pregnant, so I am sure they would be fine this time, too.”

“Um, how often do you nurse?” “Not much.” “Well, what do they eat during the day?” I looked down at my 2 year old daughter and 3 1/2 year old son and wondered what he was thinking. “Um, well, they are all old enough to eat anything they want. It’s just a psychological tether and a bonding thing. And it’s just Daphne.” “Oh, so you aren’t nursing them all?” “NO! Heh.” “OK, I had to ask. We just had someone in here that nursed hers until they were 6.” “Ahahahahahaha. No.”

All of this got me thinking. Aside from a 3-month break in 1997, during which time I was actively trying to conceive after a loss, I have been either pregnant or nursing pretty much continuously since December, 1996. That’s seven years, four months, and ten days. Holy little green tomatoes.

Most of my friends’ babies weaned themselves before 12 months, but I seem to be putting out either chocolate milk or crack cocaine, because my kids fight me tooth and nail for extended nursing rights.

To be fair, after Dylan suffered major heart damage with viral myocarditis as a newborn, my pediatrician (the coolest one on the planet BTW) encouraged us to go as long as we could both stand it to boost his immune system. All it took was for him to mention that it would only take one good, strong cold or flu to kill our son in the first year and I was right there with the program, fully and completely over whatever pressure I was feeling from those who looked askance at family beds, attachment parenting, and extended breastfeeding. They weren’t the ones wearing my breasts, I was, and mine was the only opinion that mattered in the end.

Brief aside: I’m not kidding about the whole family bed thing. If I have to line up syringes on my nightstand for round-the-clock administration to a newborn, I am not walking down the hall to get the baby. Period. I want that little sucker right where I can hear him breathing.

For six months, I carried a clipboard charting out the various medications, dosages, and schedules; believe me, when you are already sleep deprived and suffering from postpartum depression, you do NOT want to confuse the blood pressure medication with the morphine with the steroids with the stuff that makes his heart beat strongly enough to keep him alive. I couldn’t even think Babywise for months without wanting to kick something.

It seems to be true, though, that some children will want to go on longer than the most devoted attachment parenting devotees, and I actually found myself with tandem nurslings after I fell pregnant again when Dylan was just 9 months old.

Oh, and I would go on and on, but my daughter is currently wailing and clutching my jammies and begging me to take her to bed…

And oh look, here is her brother, wanting to snuggle in with us. Is this bad?

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