In which I have a lengthy discussion with my cat.

SPOILER ALERT: cat never replies

Pablo, every time I look at facebook I end up feeling shitty about my life. Look at all these other people doing interesting things having fun with fun people. They are all so proud of their lives they they talk about it incessantly.

Who cares what my kid is doing? who cares what I think about this or that? Who cares that that guy who asked you out 'for a cheeseburger' in high school is now a really hot pilot with a mustache. WITH A MUSTACHE.

Maybe I'll always feel lonely. Maybe that's what happens when you are an only child, you never figure out how to be with other people. You are hyper-aware of your inner monologue, it follows you around like a ghost twin. It's your only sibling, the closest thing to a friendship you know on a basic level.

This is pathetic. I'm talking to my cat. Although, maybe it's emblematic of the human condition...us all just asking questions that we won't get answers to. Talking to a void.

But... sometimes there are answers- real answers...true things; but we don't like their truth.

Like:
Anyway!  when will I do something with my life that is interesting...that I'll be proud of? That will make me want to put it all over facebook and twitter and cyberhell.

I guess I've done stuff, but not what I really want. I want a PhD. I want to feel smart. What does that mean? I am smart...clearly there's an implicit comparison here. I want to be smarter than everyone. No, that's shitty. And I think it's mostly not true.

And the truth here is that I'll never do it. I'm too chicken shit. I'll make up excuses forever and ever. Because once I apply--that's it. Either I get into a mediocre program, but I'll never be able to have completed a degree from a elite university. Or I won't get in at all.

I don't know, maybe I would. I know lots of dumb people in graduate programs.

See what I did there? I talked shit on them because I'm jealous of what they are doing...to make myself feel better.

See what I did there? I called it out, and by calling it out I'm less shitty of a person because at least I know I'm shitty.

Maybe nothing matters Pablo. It's so tempting to believe that. But it does, it does. I know that it matters that your fur is exceptionally luxurious and that the top of your head is one of my top-ten favorite smells.

Breastfeeding Vs. Me: KO

In the battle of me vs. breastfeeding, I've given up.  I've started a new full-time job, we're moving and I'm still finishing up classes from last semester. Honestly, I didn't stand a chance.
Maybe I'll make it to 6mos with the next baby? Sorry Mir Mir... :-/

Weight Watchers

Someone who may or may not write this blog may or may not have started weight watchers today.
This same someone may or may not feel like a huge dork for joining weight watchers--but by god, those last 10ish pounds sure aren't movin'. So here's my attempt at reclaiming my bod (allegedly).

Breastfeeding Vs. Me: Round II

Alright-- so recently my milk has just about dried up. Yes, I'm a dried up old hag, officially. I tried to pump, tried to get Mirabel to suckle/feed anyway to stimulate production, and was wildly unsuccessful in both.
I just spent a few weeks sulking, but now I'm up for round two.
Breastfeeding now has the cards stacked against me, since now I'll be attempting to 're-lactate.' Clearly, M. will never be an exclusively breastfed baby, but I'm hoping I can at least get her some of that magical elixir out of these teets.
I met with a lovely lactation consultant at The Birth Center and here's the plan she worked up for me:

• take domperidone
• take fenugreek
• drink H20 'till I swim
• Pump 6-8x/day (HOLY SHIT)
• Look at pics of M. while pumping to stimulate loving-mama feelings

Pump 6-8x/day!? This is going to be horrible. That, by the way, includes to mid-night feedings.
Well, I'm going to start sometime next week...I'll let you know how it goes....

Not a Fan of Car Rides

mini meditation

Goodnight!

You Can(not) Have it All

"Work, Marriage, Kids...at any given point, you can only give your all to two"

This is what crystalgeek78 said in the comments of today's Motherlode post "Preparing to be torn."
Some serious ink has been spilled over this topic, and I have to say, I'm struggling with this right now. How many ways can space and time be folded so that you can fulfill all of your obligations?
Do I need to (wo)man up and make it work? If I prioritize and organize correctly, can't I find a way for my will?
Or
Is it unrealistic to push myself in that way? Should I stop pressuring myself and give myself some room to suck in one arena to the benefit of another?

How to Dress a Postpartum FUPA

You knew it was going to happen, and here we are: Pregnancy jacked your shit up. You’ve got a FUPA.

Nothing fits in your closet except for those dreaded maternity clothes you were so eager to get out of. Be brave mama, there’s hope. Here’s how to dress that post-pregnancy FUPA (PPF).

1. Take all your pants, shorts and skirts with standard waists and go ahead and put them in a box. Put that box under your bed, in the back of your closet, the basement, attic, storage space- somewhere far away. Somewhere where you will not be tempted to try them on for a while.

2. Do you like leggings? If not, reconsider your disdain. Leggings are your friend because they are one of the few elastic-waisted pant options that you can wear without looking like you’ve totally given up.

3. Cozy up to dresses.  Dresses, specifically shift dresses and those with empire waists, can do wonders for covering up the PPF.  Luckily, maxi dresses are in trend right now, get thyself to old navy and pick a couple up.

4. Choose baggy or empire waisted shirts. Bonus points for low-cut shirts. Distract attention away from y0ur FUPA towards those swollen boobies. Breezy, loose fitting button downs are good too.

5. Give yourself license to buy new clothes. If you don’t have the cash, put it on a credit card (look away Suze Orman!). You deserve it.  Keep the steps above in mind and buy clothes you feel good in. Your body is amazing! You made  a human! Celebrate it by adorning it in clothes that fit well and hug your curves in complimentary ways.

New Frontier, Same Old Baggage

Last night I was fortunate enough to watch an entire movie while Mirabel slept on my chest! Motorcycle Diaries was on IFC, and this line struck me -

"What do we leave behind when we cross each frontier? Each moment seems split in two; melancholy for what was left behind and the excitement of entering a new land." -Ernesto Guevara

For obvious reasons, adjusting to being a parent has been on my mind. Being a veteran pessimist, I had prepared myself that it wouldn't be all butterflies and roses; but also I knew I couldn't really prepare myself for how becoming a parent would be for me- that there were going to be challenges, and I'd have to figure my way through once I got there. To my surprise, the challenges were surprisingly familiar. 
I'm now three weeks deep, and I'm not going to lie to you. There were some moments (hours?) when I was saying to myself: Fuck. What have I gotten myself into? What's the return policy on this thing?
There has been a really interesting discussion going on over at Motherlode recently (here and here) about parents who have serious regrets about having children. I was beginning to feel like I belonged in this club.
But then, I got some sleep, I talked with a fellow mamma,  I cried to Ben, I watched this TED video, and I cut myself a little slack. I laid on the floor, took some deep breaths, and thought.
I realized- this isn't about Mirabel. This isn't even really about me 'losing my identity' to become a mother. This is just my same old baggage coming up in a new context.
You know how there is this idea that no matter how long you are married, couples have the same fights over and over? There may be different incantations, but the core disagreement stays the same- its a weak spot in the relationship that needs to be resolved and worked out repeatedly.   I think that may also be true within ourselves- there are traps we fall into over and over, all our lives, no matter how many times we learn the lesson-
And so, for me, the two fights I have with myself over and over, in a multitude of situations, have arrived in the context of my infant daughter. 1. Not feeling 'good enough' in some way and 2. Having unrealistic expectations of the amount I can accomplish in a day (or hour or minute or a week, whatever) and then letting that feed into a greater sense of ineptitude (see #1).
When Mirabel cries and I don't know how to fix it, I feel like I'm failing her as a mother. Then, when she is fussy and refuses to be calmed or rejects the breast, I start feeling like she is rejecting me as a mother because she thinks I suck at this. The jig is up. I'm an imposter and Mirabel would a like a competent caregiver, please. while I'm reading about parents who regret having children, she is also scheming how to get adopted by a new family. (ridiculous and childish, I know)
Also, I find myself frustrated that I can't get everything I'd like to get done in a day- I mean, I'm home ALL day, so I should be able to clean the house, go for a walk, do some homework, respond to emails, go to the grocery store and take care of Mirabel all day- right!? Plus, I'm hardly sleeping so that should increase the productive hours in the day.
I'm not even sure I could have done all that without a baby, so I don't know why I expect it to happen now.
This is just my same old baggage though-  without even realizing it, I've dragged it into my fresh, new relationship with my daughter and I'm letting it sink the ship. Its not Mirabel that is upsetting me, its me.
So, with this new revelation, things are feeling a bit better. Of course, I am not immune to the frustrations of figuring out how to take care of newborn, and I am certainly interested in more sleep...but I'm not fighting the urge to suck down a pack of cigarettes (I quit years ago, but I still want to chain smoke when super-stressed) and start drinking at 10am.
Also, I thought I'd be more upset about losing my independence, but I'm not. I don't really feel like I've lost anything, actually. I feel like my life just got bigger.

Chewing-gum Nipples

Do NOT be fooled by earth mother imagery like this! 

There's an elephant in the room. I'm going to go ahead and call it out:

Breastfeeding is horrible, awful, torture.

Why doesn't anyone tell you this shit? I really thought it was going to be a beautiful, natural experience that gave me some sort of deep maternal satisfaction.

In reality, it is painful and difficult and it does NOT come naturally to infant and mother. It is not uncommon for us both to end up in tears, making me feel like the world's worst mother and leaving my baby frustrated and fussy.

And while Mirabel doesn't have visible teeth yet (being only three weeks old),  I can assure you, she's got some choppers under those gums. I know because I can feel them when she chomps on my nipple like its big league chew while desperately trying to figure out how to get the milk out. And let me be clear: she may be young, but she has some serious jaw strength. When I say chew, I don't mean a gentle, cooing baby pinch. I mean she c-clamps on my tit like she may have a future as a dominatrix sort of grip. I never thought I'd be so terrified of a baby.

I suppose a major mistake we've made is that we are also bottle feeding. Apparently this leads to 'nipple confusion.' Yes, that is a real thing.

But if we don't use bottles, Ben will never be able to feed her 1) missing out on valuable bonding and care-taking time and 2) putting an awful lot of pressure on me. This means I would never be able to be separated from her for more than two hours. This may work for some, but I don't see it working for us.
Also, I know this isn't a problem for everyone; but jeez, did my boobs really need to get bigger!? It was already hard enough to find a supportive bra, let alone a supportive nursing bra.

But the research is pretty convincing. Breastfeeding is way better for your kid. Also, its free, which is my favorite amount of money to pay for things. Sooooooooo I will keep trying. For now.

Welcome to the World, Little One!