Bat Milk

After over 8 continuous years of being pregnant and/or nursing, it's over.  I'm done.  It's kind of a relief, but at the same time, it's a bit of a drag.

1. Breastfeeding helped to regulate my blood sugar because I was eating more often.  I'm not doing that now, so my hypoglycemia has reared its ugly head once again, causing me to crash on a regular basis.  
2. I no longer have boobs.  They're almost completely gone.  The only reason for wearing a bra is to conceal my nipples.  I don't really mind because I've always been a bit flat and never cared too much about them.  I don't need two large fatty, potentially cancerous masses attached to my chest to remind people I'm a female.   I have a marvelous ass, so who needs tits?
3. Now that she's no longer nursing, Tanith must ask to nurse on a regular basis, even though she cared very little about nursing toward the end.
4. I've never been a calorie counter, but since I'm no longer burning an extra 500 calories a day, the brownies, cupcakes, jelly beans, candy bars, and dairy free ice cream sandwiches I down on a regular basis might take their toll.
5. Is there a link between breastfeeding and giving mothers a healthy immune system?  I haven't found one in writing, but I've been sick pretty much the entire time we've been weaned.
6.  I don't have a magical plug to make Tanith quiet.  Nipples have always been her mute button.  They're fantastic.

 All in all, I can't really say I regret weaning.  She's over two years old, so I fulfilled the minimum requirements for the WHO.  At least I won't be asked if I'm STILL nursing anymore.

Tanith now wants milk in a sippy cup.  Not just any sippy cup.  It has to be a Batman sippy cup.  No one may reveal that it's cow's milk unless they want to face the Wrath of Tahn.  A recent conversation with my darling youngest child.
Tanith: I'm firsty.  Want bat milk in my Batman cup.
Me: We have cow's milk.  We have almond milk.  We have coconut milk.  We don't have bat milk.
T: Bat milk is right there. (points to quart of cow's milk)
M: That's cow's milk.
T: Nope.  Bat milk.  (points to letters) See.  It says BAAAAAAT MIIIIILLLLLLLK.
M: Okay, here's your BAAAAAAT MIIIIILLLLLLLK.
T: Thank you.
M: You're welcome.
Later that night, Tanith is drinking milk from her Batman cup.
T: This is not bat milk!  This is cow milk.  Want bat milk.
Robby takes the Batman cup, pretends to refill it with the same exact milk he had used before, and hands it back.
T: That's good bat milk.  Thank you Daddy.

Poor People

I am writing this using my phone in the local WIC office. If you didn't already know, it's a government program designed to improve the nutrition of lower income women, infants, and children.  Oh wait, that means you're reading a blog written by (gasp) a poor person.  I love the way people look at me differently when they realize I'm a member lower class.  Poor people aren't supposed to be literate, are they?  We're all supposed to be a bunch of horrible, uneducated parents who dress our children in rags while we buy and sell drugs, get our nails done, drive Escalades, and collect welfare checks.  We're supposed to take advantage of the system and put our kids in daycare even though we're all a bunch of Peg Bundy-esque couch potatoes who have never worked a day in their lives. This may be true for some of us.

The truth is, I'm kind of smart.  I might not have a PhD, but I went to community college, own a home, drive a Taurus (named Boris), and I've never used the TANF system.  My kids might wear rags, but it's only because I choose my battles when they'd rather wear an old and dirty Spiderman costume than the nicer stuff I got from a consignment sale or with gift cards I earned for surveys.  I've always worked, sometimes two full time jobs at once, and was back at work within a couple of days after giving birth to my last two children, baby in a Moby carrier while I packed orders for my ebay store.  Hell, I don't even have cable TV and the thought of fake nails or daycare makes me feel a little queasy.

I've veered off topic again, haven't I?  The WIC system was started with good intentions.  I took advantage of a free breastfeeding class while pregnant with my oldest child.  I was 22 and had never been around breastfeeding, but I knew it was best and wouldn't do anything else.  I was completely clueless and was the only person in attendance.  I learned so much about breastfeeding and how boobs work.  I probably wouldn't have been successful if it weren't for that wonderful, patient teacher.  For years, I thought about going back and thanking her, but I had since moved and couldn't remember her name.  A few years later, our WIC office got a new nutritionist that seemed vaguely familiar.  I knew I had seen her or heard her voice before, but I'm no good with names or faces.  I finally noticed the plaque on her wall from my former county and it clicked.  She had been the teacher! 

Today looks like a slow day, but sometimes this place is has so many examples of bad parenting. Sure, let's fill a sippy cup with Mountain Dew, encourage the kid to drink it, and then hit him for acting like a kid high on a caffeine/sugar/chemical kick. That sounds like a GREAT idea!  Then we can jerk them up by one arm when we're called because we're too busy talking on the phone to pick them up properly.  Let's leave the baby screaming in an infant seat while we text.  Don't get me started on infant seats. That's a whole 'nother rant.  Let's show up and demand to be seen, even though we don't have an appointment or we missed ours by an hour.  I wonder if the WIC employees ever want to hand out vouchers for sour milk.  I know I would.

kibbles and tits

Yeah, it's been a while since I've posted.  We've started homeschooling (gasp!) and Tanith is now a year old, walking, and being a little hellion.  I never thought twice about her brother and sister putting things in their mouths, but she is a different story.

What makes dog food so appealing?  I've tasted it before and it tasted like dirt.  Dirt and ass.  Dirty ass.  Maybe that's why dogs like it.  So why does the baby want to eat it?  I put her down, no matter what part of the house, and within seconds, her mouth is full of kibble and her foot is in the water bowl.  This has become her favorite thing in the entire world.  Well, second favorite.  Second to only boobs.

Yes, boobs.  I am nursing a one year old.  Surprised?  Neither am I.  For some reason, this is scandalous to many people.  Most of my family has learned to shut up or avoid me completely.  People say dumb things, like "if she can ask for it, she's too old!"

No.  No.  Nooooo!  She could ask for it with a unique cry from birth.  She wasn't too old for it then.  She still isn't.  Most mammals nurse until they get their adult teeth.  Is she a mammal?  I think so.  Shut up about it, put the blanket down, and back away slowly.  Udder covers, hooter hiders, and the like also anger me.  Like any mobile baby will allow you to put a blanket over their face.

"But what about unhealthy attachments?  You can't let your children get too attached to you."  Because why?  One day, I might decide I don't want to be their mother anymore?  I'd rather have my children emotionally attached to me instead of a pacifier, blanket, or stuffed animal.

And now I must go.  Tanith's cry for neee-neeee has rang out and awakened every animal in the house.  Even the ones without ears.

Why is she so happy?

My youngest child, Tanith, is such a happy baby.  People tell me I don't know how lucky I am.  Believe me, I earned it with two high needs babies.  She sleeps most of the night, usually barely waking once to nurse and then peacefully and immediately drifting back to sleep while snuggled next to me.  Sometimes she even sleeps all night.  She's done this since birth.  The other two never did this.  For the first year, Kaiya and Ronin were waking every two hours.  Kaiya still wakes and wanders into our room a few nights a week and she is five.

And that's not all she can do!  Tanith basically came out of the womb with a huge grin on her face.  When we pulled her out of the water, she was too busy investigating her surroundings to be bothered with crying.  When she wakes, it's always a good morning.  This morning, she woke up during a giggle fit.  My husband says that each child is a reflection of my mood during labor.  I was pressured to have my first child in a hospital (more on that later), and it was a miserable experience.  I was sad and scared, so Kaiya became my sensitive child.  Ronin's birth was very empowering, my first birth center experience, and I was all like, "I am woman, hear me roar".  And he does, several times a day.  I was almost angry during his birth, taking back my birth experience with Kaiya.  Last Halloween when Tanith came into the world, I was giddy with excitement.  I laughed between contractions, sang along with Hank Williams, and hummed peacefully during contractions.

If all babies were like Tanith, I'd be a tattooed Ma Duggar.

Move it on over . . .

I was using wordpress, but I've heard good things about blogger.  We'll try it and see.

Hi, I’m Marilyn. I have three awesome kids. Kaiya is 5, Ronin is 3, and Tanith is 2 months. They do lots of things that I’ve been told I should write a book about. I’m too lazy for that, so here you go.

We cloth diaper, breastfeed, and co-sleep, but that’s not my entire life. I was a model in a past life, and a hairstylist, and a piercer. I sell stuff on eBay for a living now and wipe tiny butts several times a day.  Most of my posts will be while nursing at the keyboard, so maybe I should edit the part about it not being my entire life.  I’ve had one child or another glued to my boob or in my oven for over 6 years straight now.