Breastfeeding: A Little Man Education

You know how bath/shower time isn’t exactly a private affair when you have kids? Well, my household is no exception to that rule. I was attempting to take a nice, hot bath last week when Little Man made his entrance.

He started talking about Pokemon while I covered up as best as I could, which wasn’t good enough, I guess, since he interrupted himself with, “By the way, Mom, can you believe that Cole thinks he has boobies? He’s a boy and he thinks he has boobies!”

“Um.” I tried to think really quick…I knew that men can get breast cancer, so there is tissue or whatever…but then I realized there is no way that is what a second grade boy is referring to.

Little Man continued. “I told him he does not have boobies and only women get them. I told him that he will never have boobies, but my little sister will one day when she becomes a woman. And then she’ll be able to feed her babies or maybe attach a pump to herself and get the milk out, put it in a bottle, and then feed her baby. Or give it to her husband to feed the baby. And do you know what he said?”

Boy. He didn’t miss a thing when I was pumping. “What?”

“He looked at me, made a face, and said, ‘Little Man, that’s so weird!’ Can you believe that?”

Before I could respond, Little Man said, “And I told him, ‘Cole, you are the one who thinks boys have boobies. And you are the one who thinks it’s weird to feed a baby their milk. That’s what’s weird. Mom, can you believe that he thinks I’m the weird one when he acted all grossed out over a little tiny baby eating their food?”

“Well. You know, some families don’t really talk about where a baby’s food comes from. It’s private thing, I guess. And a lot of families just use formula. We used formula with you and mostly formula with Baby Girl. So, you know, he probably didn’t know, but now hopefully he does.”

I wonder when I’ll get that call from a concerned parent who doesn’t like the lactation information their kid came home with. At any rate, the people in charge of the campaign to normalize public breastfeeding have found their champion.

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It Only Took A Year

Almost a year ago, I made one of my first posts on this blog about one of the difficulties of baby-rearing — cutting fingernails.

Between being scared that I’d slice off the three-month-old Baby Girl’s finger with her moving all over when awake and keeping her fists tightly clenched when asleep, it was just no good.

And guess what? In the year that followed, despite getting fingernail clippers that had a magnifying glass on them, it continued to be no good.

A couple months ago, I had to hold Baby Girl down yet again while she was kicking and screaming to trim her little talons. This is the most fuss she makes over anything, including shots.

A couple weeks ago, I held her upside down while playing a game that made her giggle and was able to trim three fingernails. This was not easy, but the main ones she used to claw me with were gone. Progress!

And then today, it happened–I sat BG in my lap and trimmed every single fingernail on that 15-month-old’s tiny hand. Without her screaming.

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I fucking did it. Even though my fingers that held hers steady while trimming her nails had to be washed because they felt very grimy afterwards, I’m now winning parenthood a little. And nope, I’m not giving away my secret, because if I had to go through baby fingernail hell for a year, you can, too.

I feel like I deserve a medal. Or at least a bunch of drinks held up in a toast in my honor. And then poured down my throat. (Just no Fireball.)

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Now you know my major accomplishment for the week–what’s yours?

My Husband the Snot Czar

My husband has appointed himself the Snot Czar of our household. This means that not only does he handle his own snot and help with Baby Girl’s (she’s a baby, so he gets a pass on that), he also attempts to take it upon himself to deal with Little Man’s and mine.

Yes, mine. I’m a 31-year-old sort of adult, and my husband thinks it’s his job to clear my nasal passages.

You’re probably thinking, “Ew” and maybe even “Well, at least he cares,” but here’s how he deals with that. Instead of running the dehumidifier or cool mist sprayer, whichever of those is meant for helping with congestion, instead of giving me Mucinex or nasal spray, he would break out the bulb-style nasal aspirator.

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Modern-day torture device

The first time he offered, I thought, Why not? He uses it on Little Man (a baby at the time) and it works. How nice that he’d go that far to help me feel better. I wouldn’t do it for him.

Here’s why not: it’s what I imagine it would feel like if the zombies tried to suck out my brain through my nose during the apocalypse. Instead of just sticking the tip in and suctioning a bit out, he rammed the thing up there as far as he could and I’m pretty sure he came within a millimeter or two of puncturing my brain. (That’s what she said! That’s what she said!)

It didn’t work. He insisted that I just needed to be still, stop acting like a child and squirming around, and let him do his thing.

Uh, no. This is worse than a 10-second hug from a stranger! “No, I’ll just wait and let things clear up on their own.”

It’s all fun and games until your husband chases you throughout the house, determined to use this godawful suction thing on you in an attempt to help clear up some of the crud from the monthly sinus infection.

Fast forward a few years (and a couple dozen more attempts to force the nasal suction thing on me) and we have Baby Girl. I was part of this mommy board, which I have since left, and it was recommended to use this wonderful, relatively expensive (as in I paid $30 for the device and filters compared to $2 for the bulb at CVS), non-invasive nasal suction device called the NoseFrida.

Nosefrida The Snotsucker, the doctor developed and doctor recommended nasal aspirator is the new standard in keeping babies naturally snot free. Ingeniously simple Swedish design features a tube that is placed against the nostril (not inside). Parents use their own suction to draw mucus out of their child’s nose. Disposable filters prevent any bacterial transfer. Nosefrida is easy to clean, dishwasher safe, and BPA and Phthalate free. It is superior to the bu pound aspirator, presents no risk or harm to internal nasal structures and is dramatically more efficacious.
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Not as cute as it looks.

Don’t get distracted by the cute picture on the box. You see what the mom is doing there? She is gently removing snot by putting part of the contraption against the kid’s nose and putting the other end of the contraption in her mouth and sucking. She is literally sucking the snot out of her kid’s nose. With her mouth. Thanks to a nifty filter, you supposedly don’t get said snot in your mouth.

Since BG hated the suction bulb, I decided to purchase one of these. I gave it a try on the little one once and nearly threw up, so now Sam is the designated Snot Sucker user. Which he’s fine with, because Snot Czar.

See the happy baby whose mom is using the Snot Sucker on her below? That isn’t Baby Girl.

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Not me. Not my child.

My child is not happy to have this contraption used on her. She doesn’t care about the extra money, the advanced snot-sucking technology, it being cleaner, or being less invasive. She hates the thing.

This does not deter our Snot Czar from using it, though. And he’s proud of it. When he took BG to the doctor when she was sick and the doc suggested he use the bulb to suction her out, he boasted that he doesn’t use those. He uses a Swedish, BPA-free NoseFrida to remove snot.

He said the doc looked rather horrified and said, “That thing you put in your mouth? You use that?”

Hell yeah he does. If he were to ever get a tattoo, I’m pretty sure he’d get the NoseFrida tattooed on his bicep. He is proud of that thing. (And I checked Google Images–no one has a NoseFrida tattoo yet that I can find, so he’d be the first!)

And not only does he use it on BG, he also tries to make Little Man and me use it. Little Man cried as much as BG when Sam tried to use it when he had a cold last week. I threatened to strangle him with it if he went near me. Leave us alone and let us be sick or you’ll become an embarrassing headline!

Here’s a rather entertaining video of some dads talking about the NoseFrida.

 

I Hate Baby Books

And this is why I really have to stop at two kids. There is no way on God’s green earth that I’d somewhat fill out a baby book enough for Kid 3 not to feel like he got the short end of the stick.

(Yes, he–Little Harley. Or Bennett. Or Oliver. Or Thomas.)

If you had to give me the choice between filing my family’s taxes and filling out a baby book, I’d choose taxes every time.

Since I have a few hours to myself tonight–my husband is taking the kids out for dinner and playtime–I thought I’d fill in some details on Baby Girl’s baby book. She is 8 months old now, after all. As I flipped through it, I realized that I hadn’t listed any further details/entries since August.

Oops.

I logged onto her online medical record and went through her old visit records to get info such as weight, head circumference, and length. Then I utilized the search function on the text messages on my phone to find out other info, such as when she first rolled over and cut her first tooth. I’ll have to go through my Facebook archive from my old page that I downloaded to get more stuff.

Then there is really random stuff that I have no idea how to answer. Like “The first toy I grasped was…” and “I blew my first raspberry on…” and “My first word was…” Just kidding about the last one.

I’m not sure that some of my entries are really what the baby book making people had in mind. Like this one:

And I now understand why my personal baby book didn’t have anything in it past the two-month doctor’s appointment. Who has time for that shit?*

For the record, I checked Little Man’s baby book tonight to see how I had done with his. His was lacking in just as much detail as BG’s. So there, it’s not just BG that I get the crappy mom award with. 😉

I’ll probably set an entire day aside soon and print out pictures for BG’s and fill out the rest of LM’s as best as I can. And then, after BG’s first birthday, once I’ve finished hers, I’ll hide them for 20 years, that way when I find them when I get old, I won’t remember what shit I made up and what was real anyway.

*Do not tell me that you worked 60 hours per week while nursing triplets full time and still managed to utilize 395 Pinterest Baby Book projects to get yours done in a timely fashion.