January 8, 2010
My life has been reduced to a tiny man attached to my boob. All the time.
And I read somewhere, probably in one of Dr. Sears’ books, which I can’t stop buying, by the way, because Dr. Sears is to babies what Caesar Milan is to pit bulls, and he writes all these books about babies that make you nod and agree, and think, yes, yes! That makes sense! And somehow in my mind that makes him a supreme authority. Like if my kid all of a sudden caught on fire, I’d stop, pick up the massive “Baby Book” by Dr. Sears, turn to Chapter 46, and find out what I’m supposed to do. I’m sure he has a lot to say on spontaneous baby combustion, because he’s cool like that, plus he has like 12 kids. His wife and him are like the Duggars, except really really, smart, because all his kids are doctors– And I’m sure at lease one of his 14 kids caught on fire at some point, and at the time he was probably all “Stand back family, I have this under control!” And his wife started taking copious notes because she had the foresight to know that it would end up in Chapter 46 of her husband’s book, entitled “What to do in When Your Kid Spontaniously Catches on Fire.”
Wait, fires, babies, Dr. Sears…
Oh that’s right, I was going to tell you that I breastfeed all the time and I’m sick and tired of it. But Dr. Sears says that it releases prolactin, which apparently is the hormone that makes you a good mom, and not sick and tired of sticking your boob in your baby’s face all the time.
So maybe my prolactin isn’t working.
Instead of being all, Oh look how sweet and precious my baby is nursing all the time. I think, I’m over this, Mama needs a nap.
How much boob does one tiny baby need?
Every hour just seems ridiculous.
And do you see what it’s making me do? Did you just read that paragraph up there about babies catching fire? It doesn’t even make sense!! And now I’m loosing my mind. And Dr. Sears doesn’t have a chapter on that, I know. I’ve checked.
But I know what Dr. Sears would say, he’d say if your child wants to eat every hour, feed him every hour.
But every hour at night?
Dr. Sears would call that “night parenting.” But I’m not down with the night parenting. I’m down with the sleeping.
Dr. Sears, do you have any idea what this is doing to my brain?
No, no you don’t. So I’ll tell you, because I care, and because I want you to update your book, and possibly reference me, and perhaps make me an honorary doctor, and then adopt me…?
Here is how my brain functions normally:
Upper right, under the useless pop culture facts is how to french braid hair and accessorize with the right necklaces and shoes.
Lower right is me daydreaming about fried chicken and cupcakes.
Upper left is the lyrics to every Mariah Carey song made before 2003.
And lower left is knowing how to launder every garment and piece of fabric in my entire house.
See how nice that looks? Everything is neatly compartmentalized, and at any given moment I’m probably humming the tune of Dream Lover and thinking about eating some fried chicken.
But when my baby boy demands my lady jugs every hour throughout the night, my brain turns into a scary a t-rex with fire and lighting bolts, nothing makes sense anymore, and I don’t how to french braid my hair!
Please advise, Dr. Sears.
I can’t keep this up for much longer.