04 September 2007

It Must Be a Day That Ends in Y

Yep, that's right folks, we're back to the topic of breastfeeding. It's an interesting pastime for me, something I do approximately six times a day, 35 to 40 minutes each session, allowing me many moments of reflection. Or, when breastfeeding during the day with the twins in attendance, it allows me many moments of frustration.

You see, J-man is quite the social butterfly. If he hears my voice, he would rather look at me, smile, giggle, and flirt than eat. Late at night, in my quiet office, in front of the TV, if I make the mistake of watching the news while nursing, I'll inevitably mouth off to the commentator. J-man has now heard my voice and decides that it's time to socialize and it will take me 10 minutes to get him re-interested in nursing. So, I try to stay quiet. That's impossible when Bubba and Miss-Miss are around.

On a typical day, I'll get comfortable in the family room chair with the ottoman, pillow behind me, phone next to me, burp cloths draped everywhere. The twins are usually playing, quietly, in the sun room. All is well. I start J-man and within 5 minutes, everything goes pear-shaped. Miss-Miss steals a toy from Bubba which causes him to scream bloody murder and run in to me, crying and saying "Mama! Hep Mama!" My response is, "I'm nursing! Can't help you right now! Also, you know I don't mediate toy theft! Figure it out for yourself!" (I realize that makes me sound cold-hearted, but when you hear it day in and day out, you get over it. And so should they!) Whoops! I've spoken! J-man pulls off (rather painfully, I might add), looks at me, and grins. Let the games begin.

I coo at him for a minute and then try to re-engage him. He begins nursing again (by now, Bubba has walked off and found something else to do) and after 15 seconds, pulls off again and grins. This goes on for the next two minutes until I finally cover his eyes. He gets the message and finally focuses on the task at hand.

Now, it's Miss-Miss's turn. She decides to wear her blanket like a head-scarf. "Hep, Mama! Hep!" In she comes, hands me the blanket, and backs off until she's out of reach. "Miss-Miss, Mama can't reach you all the way over there. Come closer." She moves next to me, I put the blanket on her head, she squeals with joy and runs off. My jostling has disengaged J-man and he's back in the mood for talking. Again, we battle for a few minutes with grins, giggles, and pulling off. In the meantime, Miss-Miss has come over three more times for blanket application. I finally get J-man back on and Miss-Miss comes back a fourth time. This time, I tell her to wait until Mama is done. This causes a crisis and she is now in tears.

Ten minutes later, I'm ready to burp J-man and Miss-Miss, calmed down, runs in and helps me pat his back. Belch accomplished, time to switch sides. We're in the homestretch, people! Here comes Bubba with a book, The Grouchy Ladybug, to be specific. There is absolutely no space on the chair, but that doesn't stop him. Up he climbs, wedges himself in, and chucks the book at me. So, I've got one hand under J-man's head, the other is holding the book, and I can't breath because there's me, Bubba, J-man, and a nursing pillow all in this chair. Oh, did I mention that Miss-Miss has joined the party? She's frustrated that she can't sit in the chair, so she is crowding my legs.

Halfway through the book, J-man inadvertently touches Bubba's arm with his foot. Bubba makes a frustrated noise and pushes J-man. J-man disengages, smiles and coos at me, and I shoo Bubba off the chair, scolding him for pushing his brother. "You are NEVER to push your brother!" Yeah, whatever. They both run off, crying. Meanwhile, J-man is just pleased as punch to have another excuse to talk.

Finally, he's back on and now the twins are fighting over a toy. I've had it. "Knock it off! Both of you! Bring the toy to Mama!" Blank stares. "Bring the toy to Mama, NOW!" Miss-Miss pats over with the toy, I take it, and hide it in the chair cushion. "The toy is in timeout until Mama is done. We do not fight over toys! We share!" WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!! It's WWIII. I've just lived through a white-trailer-trash-Mama moment. All I need now is a beer, cigarette, curlers in my hair, Jerry Springer on the TV, and the moment would be complete.

After all the squalling, J-man has managed to nurse for one hour, taking in 30-minutes worth of milk. Whew! It's all over. Until two hours from now when I get to start it all over again!

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