Join us at Mushroomprinting.com for Shut Your Whore Mouth Monday. Who would you like to say, “Shut your whore mouth!” to?
Listen.
I don’t care how you choose to deliver your child.
You can choose to do it at home. You can choose to do it at a birthing center. You might want a hospital. You can choose to do it outside, underneath the stars. You might want to do it in a pool. You can do it with a doctor on hand, or all by yourself.
I don’t care.
You can choose to do it without pain medications, relying on hypnosis, music, breathing techniques or aligned chakras. Or you might choose to go all out and get every sort of pain relief that you can get your hands on.
I don’t care.
But if you think that the way your baby exited your body and entered the world somehow makes you a better person than someone who choose differently? You can just shut your whore mouth.
Slightly Similar Nonsense:
Tags: Baby, birth, delivery, link up, meme, shut your whore mouth, SYWM
Ex·tra·ne·ous, Parental, Physical | Thepsychobabble, February 20, 2012 8:43 AM | Comments (2)
If there is someone you’d like to say “Shut Your Whore Mouth!” too, head over to mushroomprinting.com and link up!
Listen, unless you have trademarked your child’s name, you don’t own it. And no, I don’t give a rat’s ass if your coworker’s sister is naming her baby the same thing. Or if your sister-in-law wants to use a name that’s not the name you picked, but it has the same cadence/vowel sound/initials/whatthefuckever.
Chances are that even your super special Unyecke name is bound to be repeated on the class roster at least a few times in your child’s life. You might as well get used to the idea now. You can’t hoard a baby name all to yourself. So shut your whore mouth about it, and deal.
Slightly Similar Nonsense:
My first child, our daughter, was born a whole six years ago. After she was born, before we even moved from labor and delivery over to recovery, a “lactation nurse” came to help us get started with that whole breastfeeding thing.
Now, I’d never done this before. And even though I had thoroughly studied all sorts of books on the art of breastfeeding and such, I figured I should give this lady, who surely must be trained in the breastfeeding department, a shot at helping us out.
So the lactation nurse cooed over the baby, and then went to help us get latched. And my daughter, having been born with a trace of vacuum cleaner in her, apparently, glommed right on and started suckling away.
Except…it hurt. It hurt a LOT. And all the books had claimed that breastfeeding properly wouldn’t hurt. (I’ve since learned that the books, they lie! But that’s a different story) So I spoke up, somewhat timidly and let the nurse know that this was downright painful.
“Oh, you’ll get used to it, honey,” she assured me, patting my arm before bustling off to her next patient.
Well, this was really painful. It just did not feel right at all. So I popped my little Dyson darling off of my breast, and discovered that while she had indeed latched on, it was not onto my nipple. About a 1/2 inch too high, there was an ugly hickey on my breast.
Moral of the story: Tacking the word lactation onto someone’s title does not an expert make.
Slightly Similar Nonsense:
Tags: Baby, boobs, breastfeeding, breasts, lactation, latching, nipples, nurse, parenting, proper latch
Boobies&Parts, Parental, The Past | Thepsychobabble, January 27, 2012 11:18 AM | Comments (10)
This week, my dose of happy for Band Back Together’s Dose of Happy Monday is the joint baby shower that my friend and I had this weekend.
Doing it jointly meant I didn’t have to be the only center of attention.
It was child-friendly, so babysitters didn’t have to be lined up.
And I am thismuch closer to having what we need for this one, thanks to some very generous gifts.
If you have a Dose of Happy to share with the Band today, head over to BandBackTogether.com and link up!
Slightly Similar Nonsense:
Tags: Baby, band back together, BB2G, DOHM, dose of happy, gifts, happy, party, writing prompt
Mental | Thepsychobabble, January 23, 2012 11:40 AM | Comments (4)
The three-in-a-week-year-old boy child and I, snuggling on the floor. He’s in my lap. I wrap my arms around him and start kissing his adorable cheeks. “Whose my baby?” I coo at him, in that ridiculous voice that all parents have.
“Not me!” he declares. “I not a baby, I a BIG BOY!”
Rolling with it, I make sad eyes at him, “Oh, but mama NEEDS a baby, are you sure you’re not my baby? What will I do with NO BABY?”
Soothingly, he pats my head and offers his solution, “Get a baby at daycare? Daycare has LOTS of babies.”
*****
In one short week, we’ll be a baby-free house. I say that like his birthday is the magic day. Preschool looms. Two-wheelers have been half-way mastered, and potty training has been accomplished.
But for now, I’m going to enjoy my baby-on-the-cusp every chance I can. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go embarrass him with kisses now.
Slightly Similar Nonsense:
