I can’t even begin to tell you how hilarious Robyn from Hollow Tree Ventures is. When I was scheduled for my surgery, Robyn was the first to dive into volunteering for this International Meat-athon (of the cattle variety you perverts) and I was so excited.
Can write your panties wet.
That sounded terrible.
Drugs are a wonderful thing. Everything sounds hilarious in my mind.
But seriously though, Robyn cracks me up every single day.
I won’t lie, I am a tad nervous to share her with you. She’s been my blogger secret. I want her all to myself. But it’s time to let her free.
And her boobs.
Please Welcome Robyn!!
Hi, I’m Robyn, and I blog over at Hollow Tree Ventures. I talk about all sorts of fun stuff over there, like how to have a mental breakdown when you find out your innocent babies know more about Sexy Time than you do, how to send passive-aggressive messages of hatred to your filthy ignorant neighbors, and how to otherwise just barely skim the surface of being an acceptable human while (hopefully) minimizing your odds of getting visited by Child Protective Services.
You know, regular stuff.
What I don’t usually talk about at HTV are boobs, which is why I’m here (among other reasons).
I don’t have anything against boobs (insert joke from fifth grade here). I just don’t talk about them at HTV because I rarely have a reason to, and plus my dad reads my blog, so, um… gross.
So when I got an opportunity to guest post for Kimberly while she recovers from evicting her nasty, punk-ass gallbladder, I jumped at the chance! Finally, after all this time on the innerwebs, I get to say penis! PEEEENISSSSSS!
Now that was liberating.
So anyway, while I’m here I’m going to talk about boobs, and to make it seem legit and not pervy, I was hoping to get some advice from you lovely readers about breastfeeding, or as we call it at my house, “boobing up.”
One disclaimer before I begin: I am a breastfeeder, in case that wasn’t clear from the previous sentence. I don’t say that to bitch or to brag,* it just is. I know that not every mother is, for various reasons, either by choice or the baby just wasn’t into it or a low milk supply or whatever. On the other side of the token, there are plenty of moms who breastfeed almost until their kid is packing for college, and that’s fine too. It’s a personal thing (despite the fact that I’m talking about it on the innerwebs, which was pretty public the last time I checked) and I know sometimes people can get touchy about it, as in, “Hey, I wasn’t able to breastfeed so shut your Complain Hole and be grateful that you can,” or, “I can’t believe you didn’t breastfeed longer, why would you ever want to stop ?” I’m not trying to offend anyone, so for the record I do realize that everyone’s situation is different. But this is my guest post, so I kind of have to talk about my own boobing up experience since (as weird as it already is) I think we can all agree it would be even weirder if I started writing about somebody else’s boobs.
Now that all that’s out of the way, I can share that typically, I really like breastfeeding. I did it with each of the three babies that came out of my own personal uterus, each time for about a year. I know they say it’s better for the baby, which is great and all (though probably not entirely true for my first two kids, considering the various chemicals that likely made it into my boobmilk due to the rather unhealthy lifestyle I had going on), but I must admit that I mostly like it because I’m lazy. Breastfeeding means no bottles to mix, no getting up to feed the baby in the middle of the night, no panic attacks when I get someplace and realize I didn’t bring any formula.
Maddie, who turned one year old on Saturday so she’d better start making other beverage arrangements pretty soon, has been no different. And actually, I’m not in quite as big a hurry to wean her as it probably sounds.
Get off the teats, kid.
Oops, was that out loud? The problem is that she’s a little too attached to The Girls; they’re her absolute best friends. Kind of cute, right? Sure, until you realize that she beats the crap out of her friends.
In case you don’t know, babies often nurse themselves to sleep, eventually unlatching from the nipular area, at which point the grateful, exhausted mother can heave her overworked bosom back into whatever contraption she uses to contain it. Sometimes, if the baby needs a little extra comfort, she might turn to a lovie or cuddly stuffed rat.
We have one, if you’re interested.**
But when Madeline releases suction on her last meal of the day, she turns to the only source of nighttime comfort she’ll accept – my boobs. Instead of allowing me to reclaim The Girls and tuck them in for the night, she’ll spend up to another hour or so smacking them, kneading them, practicing her fine motor skills by using one chubby finger to poke them inside-out, and (my favorite) twisting the Delicate Bits between her fingers like she’s a Bad Cop trying to coerce me into confessing to Elmo’s murder.
If I try to close up shop, she fusses until she wakes herself up - then we have to start all over getting her to sleep. I know if I was any kind of woman I’d just leave her in her crib or an abandoned warehouse or something until she cried it out, but I just can’t. I had no trouble torturing the first two for their own good, but for some reason I just can’t do it with this one. I don’t know why…
Yes I do – the main reason is that my husband has been taken over by some kind of Baby Worshiping voodoo, and I’ve noticed his new “religion” is a lot more pro-baby than pro-boobie.
I understand that it’s a phase, and that I’ll probably miss the quirky little attachment she has to me sooner or later,*** but for now I’m wondering, does anyone else have this problem? Is there a decoy boob on the market that I could introduce as a substitute? If not, is there a medical salve that helps heal claw marks on the nipular region caused by freakishly sharp baby fingernails? Is my family just totally weird and you’re all sitting out there in the interwebs shaking your heads slowly and giving me the crazy eye?
I need to know – I can take it.
Okay, that’s enough about the boobs for one day. Hugs and interweb smooches to Kimberly, as she recovers and continues to dream of sharing a big, juicy meatburger with Chuck Norris (shut up, I didn’t mean it that way).
*If that isn’t already a saying, I’m claiming credit for it now. That’s catchy.
**Seriously, who lets their baby play with a stuffed rat? Not somebody who’s right in the head, I’ll tell you that much.
***No I won’t.
Please come and visit me at my house, Hollow Tree Ventures, where I don’t usually have any snacks but there’s always wine and plenty of snark to go around. Also feel free to join me on Twitter – the nice thing about that is I can’t ramble for nearly as long there, what with the character limit and all, and I’ve been told that my abrasive personality is easier to handle in small doses (I’m kidding, no one has ever said that. To my face.). Also, I just joined up on the Facebook, and I’d love it if you’d come over and snoop around and like the page so we can be friends FOREVAHHHHH!