Friday, July 18, 2014

Thoughts While Nursing

It's official. On Monday, Ivy passed the 23-month mark, which means I have now breastfed her longer than her brother. At almost two, Ivy still nurses a remarkable—or some might say ridiculous—number of times each day. Sometimes she just wants a quick cuddle-and-sip, but usually when she asks for "Mama milk," she settles in for a "good feed" as Grandad calls it.

For a while I was passing my time as a human sippy cup by reading, but now that Ivy rejects the nursing pillow as a concept—"no pillows!"—holding a book is no longer easy or comfortable. Now I use the time to go over my mental to-do lists. Except that my mind ends up wandering.

Yesterday, I made a point of observing my thoughts while Ivy camped out for one of her marathon breastfeeding sessions. It went something like this:

- Ugh. What is up with this lazy toddler latch?

- "Let It Go" running through my head. I've seen Frozen three and a half times, and if I never hear that song again, it'll be too soon. Disney knows its ear worms.

- "Ear worm" is probably the grossest name for that phenomenon. I kind of want to dry heave if I think "ear worm" too hard.

- Adult fans of Disney confuse me. But that cowl/vest thing of Katniss's in Catching Fire is amazing and makes me want to get my cosplay on.

- But not in the summer.

- Actually, I wish there were any character I liked well enough to dress up as in a big, dramatic cosplay sort of way.

- Maybe Alice Paul. Alice Paul kicked ass.

- Is it "cosplay" if the person was a real person? Or is that just "historical reenactment?" Where is the line? Is there a line?

- Fantasizing about lunch, and it's nowhere near lunchtime. I guess that's what happens when you start your day at 5:30 AM. Glad I assembled my lunch ahead of time so all I have to do is nuke it.

- It's sort of ironic that I eat better now that we have a microwave again.

- Could the neighbors make any more noise with that U-haul?

- U-hauls on the road always terrify me. A large vehicle being driven by someone who probably doesn't drive large vehicles on a regular basis, and who is also possibly stressed about moving? I'll be over here.

- There are people whose whole job is to drive giant vehicles.

- Lots of jobs are kind of bizarre, when you think about it. There are people who get paid to sing.

- When a singer is recording in a studio, does he actually sing the chorus as many times as it occurs in the song, or does he sing it really well once and let the producer use some music producorial equivalent of Copy/Paste?

- "Producorial." Not a word.

- I feel like all I do is sit here and nurse. All day.

- I need to Marina Abramovic this shit.

- [Ivy lifts her leg and kicks me in the face.] Perfect.

- Is Ivy going to want to pick her own Halloween costume this year? I hope she chooses something simple, like a cat.

- I don't remember the last time Ivy cried because there wasn't a kitty on her shirt. I guess we made it through her "crazy cat baby" phase.

- Would she have become obsessed with cats if we had a dog?

- [Ivy shifts.] Is she done? No, just readjusting.

- Frozen was only so-so. The bit at the beginning with the men being all manly with the ice and their phallic saws was interesting, though. Not sure exactly how it relates to the rest of the movie. Male entitlement over women's power, maybe?

- That awful king with his stupid villain mustache.

- "Let it go, let it gooohhh..."

- Yuck. I need to de-ear-worm myself.


Monday, June 30, 2014



I never thought Ivy looked much like her brother. In fact, one of the things I remember thinking when I first saw her was, "Wow, she looks nothing like Westley!"

Most of the time, I stand by that assessment. Westley looks like a little-boy version of me, while Ivy gets her magical green-brown eyes and pouty lips from Rob. But when I accidentally hit "back" on a stream of photos just now, I was stunned by how much then-Westley resembles now-Ivy. Under identical shaggy blond bangs, their eyes have the same impish sparkle.



Wednesday, June 18, 2014



I haven't written anything in over a month, because I've lost the recipe for making time.

So many things have changed. If I don't think about it, everything feels kind of the same, like we're just chugging along, days and evenings all blurring together. When I step back and really think about it though, some differences are obvious. I am more or less pain-free these days. Ivy is speaking in sentences. Westley is reading sentences, which I still can't really believe. (It seemed to happen overnight. One day he still didn't recognize a handful of letters, and the next day he was just...reading. Everything.) Rob, who is always busy, is suddenly busier. It seems like a long time since any of us slowed down.

Today I felt the change. Today was the last day of school. Westley spent the afternoon with my parents, and I took Ivy to the park. The same park we went to last week, at roughly the same time. Because the park is pretty close to the grocery store and "time to go" is easier to accept if you get to go pick out bananas afterwards. (At least, that's how it works for my almost two-year-old.) Last week, there were just a few other people at the park, and only one other child. Today it was a sea of elementary-school-aged kids and bikes and moms and scooters and bike helmets and dogs.

"Did you know it's the last day of school?" the girl on the swing next to Ivy's asked me. She was swinging and coloring in a journal at the same time.

"I did know that."

"It's summer vacation. I'm going on a vacation. To Hawaii." Then she offered to push Ivy on the swing. I turned her down, since Ivy's in a wary-of-strangers-over-a-certain-age phase. The girl shrugged and went over to push her little sister, leaving a purple marker on her own swing to save her spot.

* * *

When Westley got home, I looked over his end-of-the-year paperwork, which included a list of school supplies for first grade. That did it. He's really done with kindergarten.

I keep thinking I should be more weepy about this. Mostly it's just strange to think that so much time has passed so quickly. Especially when I feel like I can't find—or make—time anymore.