Bub Crawl

     Some days are just meant to suck.  I spent last night getting up every three hours to breastfeed Rose, who proceeded to drink barely enough to fill her tummy but insisted on soothing her teething by clamping down hard enough to cause pain.  At 4 am, when I usually would pump, I crawled back into bed to catch a few more minutes.

     Of course a few minutes meant I woke up three hours later--exactly when Rose woke up.  I fed her again, but she wanted to play and make screechy noises instead.  Then she proceeded to look at Coffeeguy and say "Dada" over and over again. It's maddening how we do all this extra work, suffer through nipple pain, plugged ducts, milk all over...and they are linguistically pre-conditioned to say "Dada" first.  Disgusted with the unfairness of it I decided to leave her with the half-awake Coffeeguy while I hunted down my pumping kit.

     It's a miracle of the human system that breast milk is made for your baby.  Literally for them, as in their supply and demand decides how much you make, their presence (or lack thereof) makes the milk flow faster or slower.  It's incredible, but it also means that while pumping, distractions are not a good thing.  Try pumping in a room with two Tweens.  It doesn't matter how many times I explain the way it works to Happyboy and Punkgirl, they see my Rose-less body and are so happy to have me to themselves that they launch into stories of everything that has happened to them or interested them in the last 10-12 years.  Any other time, I would listen with attention, but all I can think of while I am pumping is "please stop talking.  Rose Rose Rose Rose."  It doesn't usually work, and I'm lucky if I get a scant two ounces after pumping both breasts.

     I could move the pump into the bedroom, but Coffeeguy has the same mammary--er, memory problems as my dear children.  I end up trying to drown out politics or funny stories on Facebook.

     So this morning I was fed up, and frustrated, and when Coffeeguy handed me a tea I took it and ran.  I closed my bedroom door, sat down, and proceeded to enjoy a nice hot cup with no distractions.  It lasted two minutes.

     All three non-baby relatives called me to the other room, come quick!  As I sighed and walked in the room, they all clamored to tell me that Rose had crawled.  My baby had crawled, and while I am home with her every day, she waited for that one moment of escape to show off a new trick.  It was as if she was punishing me for finding that minute alone!

     She refused to do it again, no matter the incentive.  I stand rebuked.