Sunday, April 27, 2008

A Glowing Personality

Our lovely, lovely son does not transition gracefully.
(if you listen carefully you can hear his California Grandma smirking loudly).

It's alright. I don't rock the transitions. I feel his pain. Sometimes though? Sometimes it makes me want to sell him on ebay SO BADLY. Just for a second.

Tonight he was special tired. I have no idea why. It was not a special day. We did normal house things. He went on a quick Gristede's run with Mark. Apparently? Exhausted. How do I know?

Well, first we put him in the ergo back carrier. He arched and whined and danced. Nevermind. Then we tried the sheepcow chair. It held him briefly, with the vibrations going (its like low grade shaken baby. I'll take it). I managed to do a load of dishes before he broke down.

What could you need, little ball of misery? I picked him up and he latched onto to my face. Like a leech (ps - i almost linked a picture here. But they were officially too gross). Those of you without nursing children may not remember how large baby mouths can go. Let me tell you. First? They dislocate their lower jaws. Then they can open their mouths BIGGER THAN THEIR HEADS. So he latched onto my cheek. Funny/Scary - you be the judge.

My mom-tuition binged "What, you're hungry? Why didn't you say so!"
We skip off to the couch for a dinner snack. He nursed just long enough to spill milk all over both of us and then hung his head backwards off my lap to stare fixedly at the arm of the sofa. Trust me, it is not exciting. I tried to nudge him back to nursing. But he had planned ahead and locked his neck in this brokenneck way just in case CPS popped in and needed immediate proof of abuse. Sweet.

We tried nursing in the dark on the bed. This is the refuge of desperation, the last ditch prebed routine to convince him to eat before sleeping so he doesn't wake up at some ridiculous hour. The prettypretty please of parenting. We settled in. He nursed for something like 2 minutes. And then went crazy. Craaaaaazy. Except he kept eating. Apparently it took both hands and one foot (in a tractioned footy pajama) and his mouth to get my boob. I had NO IDEA a stationary breast was so wiley. Pretty freakin wiley. And his other foot needed to fold his feet up to his head. Except I was in the way. And his third hand kept trying to pull the blanket on the bed over his head.

It was very relaxing.

He's asleep now. Not dead, I checked. I put him wild eyed into his crib. He cried for three whole minutes before his brain was like "THIS IS WHAT WE WANT" and then thud, down for the count.

I'm going to lay on the floor. My brain says "THIS IS WHAT WE WANT".