Well, Baby Monkey Meiners and I made it through the holidays in one piece. I came away feeling so much like a treasure troll that, strangely, I have actually developed a fondness for all that petting and belly yelling. That’s right family and friends, I don’t mind your squeals and belly rubs or your shouting to the baby anymore. Although I must warn you, there is a good chance that she can’t hear you because she is awfully busy doing flips and kicking the crap out of her mother’s nearest internal organ. Although, random blue-hair walking the aisles of mecca Target… I do mind your touches and, again, my baby can’t hear you either.
Considering it is butt-ass cold outside, and there is a veritable carpet of pine needles surrounding the once Christmas tree turned sad stump in more living rooms than people would like to admit, a May baby might seem like it’s still a ways away. Having just watched a birthing video (and subsequently breaking down into sobs), I am here to say, “No, it is not that far off.” In fact, you had best be making your Cinco De Mayo plans straight away, ’cause while they say I am going to be all “puff, puff, push” that day, you don’t want to miss out on those strong, sweet blueberry margarita’s at Hacienda (trust me, they are so good I won’t be the only one with my ankles behind my ears that day).
We only have about three and a half months until That Girl is scheduled to grace us with her presence, and my nipples are running scared. The amount of concern over what is going to happen to my boobs over the next year truly is flattering, and though my breasts love the attention, I am becoming more and more terrified of the many-fabled Le Leche League ladies that everyone speaks of. If everything I am hearing is to be believed they are the Nipple Nazis- lurking around each and every corner waiting for you to have a latching problem and decrying inverted nipples. It is truly frightening.
Recently, it has also come to my attention that there are people who just as adamantly call out against the mammary-feeders. They will scold and scorn you, even if feeding time is tastefully cloaked from the outside world. Who knew that such secrecy would be needed in order to feed your kid? It’s another one of those unwritten rules: Never, ever answer the question,’boobs or bottles,’ upon penalty of laser beams shooting out of the questioner’s eyeballs. Simply respond, ‘I don’t,’ and quietly slip away if you know what’s best for you.
Dude- I suck at rules. I am totally going to blow this whole Mommy thing… Next thing you know, they are going to be telling you not to give sharp objects to young children, Muse isn’t appropriate to play before bed, and that Quentin Tarrentino movies aren’t appropriate for family movie night. Then I will be in real trouble.