Feed. Burp. Change diaper. Bounce/Dance/Rock. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
This one’s a fiesty one. He’s pretty much all-boob, all the time. ‘Cept he shares it with his sister, and so, as you can imagine, there’s no rest for Mom AKA Mrs. Boobie-McMilkMaker.
Yeah, that’s me. I’m a milk-makin’ machine. Boobs hangin’ out all the time, it seems. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t leave the house, as demanding as my newborn is.
I’m not a newbie at this, I’ve been around the block a few times. I’ve done the dance. Walked the walk.. etc. I know what I’m doing. Yet… why is this kicking me in the teeth like it is? You’d think I’d have it down by now.
My filled arms are tired arms. I feel like I lift weights all. day. long. My weights are my 9-ish pound newborn and my 23 pound toddler. I’m not holding her as much as wrangling her from smothering her newborn brother with her need to
lick kiss him. Did I mention I’m a bodyguard too?
Maybe I’m too old? Or, since I’m older than I was with all the others, maybe that’s the reason I can barely get up in the morning, if it wasn’t for an excited 21-month old climbing onto me proclaiming ‘booooo!’ or ‘boooey!’, as she lovingly refers to my breasts AKA brick-like milk-makers.
That’s all I am lately. One giant boob.
What’s worse? I don’t even feel like I’m getting anywhere. I feed him all the time. If he wasn’t gaining weight, I’d have to second guess whether I’m giving him enough. I know that he’s getting what he needs. But if I fed all the time, I’d be huge! What gives? My breasts aren’t filled with air, here. I know there’s milk going on, as is evident by the milk-filled burps I get, along with the trademark milk moustache.
My 21-month old did better on colostrum while I was pregnant than she’s doing now! Before I’d get her to sleep in 10 seconds flat. Now, the boob goes in and she’s nursing 10-15 minutes and no sleep in sight. What’s going on here?
Yet, with all the craziness going on here, and lack of sleep, housework not getting finished, time NOT on my side, bags under my eyes the size of my minivan, I have a wonderful, supportive husband who’s doing his best to do what I do each day, dragging his tired butt to bed each night with a newfound appreciation for all that I do. I have a wonderful set of children who are doing their best to pitch in and help out their tired parents, along with a beautiful newborn who might not know he’s wreaking havoc but is nonetheless gorgeous. And perfect. And adorable. And worth it.
I can do this. We’ll get through this ‘adjustment period’. My breasts won’t be so sought-after anymore, and personal space will eventually be my friend again. So will daily showers. Ah yes -showers. My body will once be what it was, and not so out of whack. And somewhere in there, I’ll eventually get a good night’s sleep.
Sooner than later would be awesome, though.