I've been awake since 4 a.m. A certain tiny terrorist (you know who you are!) woke me up before my alarm clock (which is set for 4:18 a.m.). I saw it was 4, and I was okay with that. I thought, “Oh! I can make it in to work by 5 or a little after to make up for going in to work so late yesterday.”
That did not happen.
At 5:30 a.m., when I still could not get my tiny terrorist back to sleep (tinorist? That doesn’t work. I’m sure I’ll come up with something) I started getting grumpy. The dogs wanted to go outside and eat their breakfast. They were making this known through things like putting their noses on the baby and flapping their ears back and forth in a move I like to call “Helicopter Puppy.” And Owen only does it because Rupert does.
The dogs are terrorists, too.
So, I declared my done-ness with trying to get my favorite baby back to sleep (“I’m done! Go to sleep!”), I wrapped him in his blanket (arms out, since he’s so good at rolling now), I turned on his mobile (a free one I received from a coworker that plays classical music) and I fled the room, quietly but quickly.
As I whined about it to Mr. Adventure (who was up early, trying to get his homework done during the only time the house is quiet) he was sympathetic. Then, we heard the much dreaded sound of baby squawks coming from the bedroom that indicated our tiny bundle of blood-curdling screams had not gone back to sleep as we had hoped.
Mr. Adventure tagged himself in to baby duty and sent me off to work. At least here all the noise is white noise and all my problems are solvable.
Poor baby is teething, still. Obviously. And that first tooth still hasn’t broken through. He has started grabbing my hand, putting my finger in his mouth, and shaking his head back and forth until his gums make a squeaking sound.
He will be six months old in 5 days. I read somewhere when I was pregnant that each day drags on and seems like a hundred days, but time goes by so fast. I think that’s a pretty accurate description. At least of the first six months so far.
Hamburglar is getting ready to go through mental leap 6, according to the Wonder Weeks, and I’m assuming that is why he has been screaming like he is on fire. Like the night before last, we were just hanging out, and he went from totally fine to screaming like he was on fire in about 15 seconds. I still have no idea what was wrong with him. Teething? Growth spurt? Practicing for a future career as the lead singer in a scream punk band?
What else? Rupert and Mr. Adventure just had birthdays. I had cocktails! It was amazing. We played Cards Against Humanity and drank the pitcher of Washington Apples I made. And it was nice, until my favorite terrorist awoke from his slumber in the middle of the night. I bottle fed him then went to bed.
I saw some post on baby center or something that some chick had written that basically said, “Why would you drink when you’re breastfeeding? Are you such a raging alcoholic that you can’t wait a year for a drink?” To her, I would like to say, Andate a la verga! Which, translated literally, means “walk to the dick” and basically means go fuck yourself. But I like to tell people to walk to the dick. As long as you aren't feeding your baby tit whiskey, you’re fine. And, according to the research I've done, a glass or two of wine won’t kill your baby. If you are too buzzed to drive, you are too buzzed to breastfeed. Alcohol leaves your milk like it leaves your blood, so pumping to try to pull out the alcohol is stupid. You should/need to pump to maintain milk supply if your breasts feel full and you’re still drunk and you should give your baby a bottle until you sober up. La Leche League has some good info on drinking and breastfeeding.
Be smart if you’re going to drink. Don’t drink like you did in college. Or like I did in college. Especially not like I did in college.
Kellymom has a really good breakdown of tips on drinking and breastfeeding, like waiting two hours after having a glass of wine or two.
Also, I don’t know if I’m doing it wrong or what, but I don’t think I like RLR for stripping diapers. I know that I definitely hate my washing machine because it has that auto lock bullshit going on. All I want to do is open the fucking washing machine to see if there are suds coming off my diapers still so I know if I need to keep rinsing or if I can dry them. But no. Auto lock won’t let me.
I think the washing machine is in cahoots with the dogs and baby. They’re plotting something. I know it.
Also, Little Monsters diapers are amazing.
That is all.