Time is flying, and we are getting the hang of things. We vowed that we were not going to be the type of parents who were afraid to do things/get out and about with their little ones, no matter how young, because 1) We ourselves are young, and we are awesome, and we love doing things together, so little squidlet better just buck up and come along for the ride if she doesn’t want to be left at home in the care of the world’s worst behaved animals, 2) a little germ exposure is good for the nugget, and 3) who knows how many amazingly mild winters we are going to have left to frolic about in before global warming burns us all up to a crisp. So we have been getting out and bopping on as much as we did before this little scream machine arrived. The newborn stage is especially nice for gallivanting about town because literally all you need to pack is diapers, wipes, and your boobs. Also, FYI if you are good parents and not rude and self-absorbed like we are, a pacifier and a change of clothes for spit up situations is real A+ parenting behavior for all of you overachievers out there. Thanksgiving week was especially crazy. Sunday we drove to Naperville to celebrate my cousin Mandi’s baby shower for her own little partridge in her pear tree, Reid. We pumped baby full to the brim with milkage, strapped her in her container, hoped for the best, and promptly discovered that this kid will sleep in the car like a freaking champ.

After the shower we were supposed to have been traveling on to Lake Geneva to celebrate Gates’ birthday but due to baby’s slower than molasses weight gain we had to kick it in Milwaukee for another weight check for her on Monday – which she totally crushed by getting back to birth weight and change. I was so relieved by her progress, since we had been having quite the time with feedings, really up until the end of that weekend. She had still been using the nipple shield to feed, which seemed to get her to suck, but would slop about half of the milk out of the side of her mouth and onto both of us – leaving her tired from her efforts but never satiated, and both of us quite moist at all times, and had lead to the lactation consultant recommending that we supplement after each feed with either pumped milk or formula. I definitely did not want to do formula since I am the epitome of a cheapskate, did not want to be dependent on hauling bottles everywhere and cleaning them constantly, and also her bowel movements smell horrendous enough with just breastmilk and I did not want to witness that transition to formula stink. And every time we tried to give her a bottle with breastmilk she screamed and refused to suck for ages, and then once she finally ate some she spit it all back up within minutes. I had been feeling incredibly disappointed in myself with her problem gaining weight, which I know is totally absurd and in no way my fault, but as anyone who has gone through something similar probably understands – it freaking sucks. It totally feels like you are failing your kid/starving them/are broken in some way. After the last appointment she had where she had only gained one ounce in 4 days and they talked to me about supplementation, I literally went to Target SOBBING to purchase formula and totally looked like a Sad Sally freak, which is not the look I am going for when setting an example for the baby about what it means to be a strong, fearless woman, so SHH don’t tell her. But on the snuffly drive home alternating staring between my shame purchase of formula and my beautiful octopus (NOT SAFE DRIVING practices FYI) I had a moment that can only be described as sheer Rosie stubborn AF determination – and I got home- and I know that this sounds completely ridiculous- but I swear on the life of my love of beer that I stared the kid right in her eye and we came to an understanding that we were going to make this WORK, GODDAMMIT. And… we did. I got that lil squish off the nipple shield and onto a good old fashioned nip. And when we went in for that weight check on Monday and she was a little chubs, and all the nurses and lactation people came in for congrats and atta boys, me and squid winked at eachother, and I felt pretty parental, despite the fact that my milking efforts came at an incredible price. Yes, even though feeding without a shield meant kiddo was now gaining weight -it also meant that she was now having to expend a little more effort drilling for oil… and this quickly began to take its toll.

***ALSO – in NO WAY am I suggesting that using formula is inferior to breastfeeding or anything even remotely similar. I just did not want to use it, for a litany of reasons, most of them incredibly selfish and/or frugal. I 100% believe that kids are going to turn out to be cool or turn out to be little sniveling shits mostly on their own volition and not because of parenting decisions/choices. And I could write a whole blog post with tons of examples/bios with my scientific reasoning for this opinion, but I don’t want to be rude.

Anyway – eating without the Dumbo’s feather of a nipple shield seemed to really tire the piglet out. Like…so much. Like so much that no amount of blowing on her, stripping her naked, tickling her, yelling at her could render her lucid from her little piggy snoring. She literally seemed to only be able to get through the beginning of a small snack without needing a snooze. This was ok during the day, because it really wasn’t much trouble to pop her on and off the goods in between/in the middle of whatever I was doing so that eventually with enough little snick snacks she got a full meal in there somewhere… but at night… made me start seeing her as what she truly was… a monster. The neediest little nibbliest monster. I thought I was tired before, when a feeding meant she would feast like a demon for 7 minutes, soak both of us with milk, poop, I would change her diaper, change her clothes, she’d poop again, pee on the table while I got a new diaper out, then I’d take the pee soaked outfit off and put a new one on, and then we would pass out for 2-ish hours and repeat. LOL. Those were the days. Now, she nibbles at a teet for 20 minutes while mostly asleep, falls off the nipple startling herself awake, cries, and goes on the other side for 20 minutes or so of halfhearted slumbering munching, falls deeply asleep while pooping, I change her as swiftly and quietly as possible, she wakes up and wants another go on the sleepy snacking train, I pop her back on, she passes out again, we get back into bed, I pass out hard, and then 20 minutes later we repeat. All. Night. Long. For the life of me I cannot get this kid to stay awake to eat, despite my MOST valiant efforts, but by the time it is around 2 am I am so stinking tired I can’t even wake myself up enough to mess with her and poke at her, and I have developed an incredibly terrible habit of falling completely asleep while nursing her. But this lead to Gates being able to see her true colors as a monster creature, as he once woke up and saw me conked out and snoozing with her in my arms, flopped down onto my stomach when she fell of my breast – and then ARMY CRAWLING all the way up to my chest where she sighed and plopped down and started snoring away. What sort of demon did we create, crawling around at 3 weeks old?! Oh, and despite every effort on our parts – she will ONLY sleep on my chest. Legs tucked away Lieutenant Dan style. So much for me being vehemently anti-bed sharing. So this new feeding schedule quickly began to take it’s toll, but we still managed to fit in all of our holiday plans – 1 night away in Lake Geneva Tuesday, attending our annual Meat Night party Wendesday swinging by our friend’s Ross and Kari’s party in Racine after that, sleeping at Gates’ parents house that night, celebrating Thanksgiving with them Thursday, my parents coming to chill with us Friday, and then heading to Wisconsin Rapids Saturday to see more of my family and grandparents.

And somehow we are surviving. I think deep down I realize how fleeting this stage is, even though right now it feels like it is lasting an eternity, so I am really not feeling the effects of sleep deprivation like I probably should be. I am incredibly grateful that 1) Gates sleeps through the majority of our ruckus and is able to bank at least a good chunk of sleep at night so that he can use his brain at work and 2) that I do not have to use my brain for really anything besides feeding and changing during the day. I have no idea how women can go back to work so quickly after having a baby, it makes me so incredibly sad that some have no choice but to get back at it real fast in order to survive financially… like it makes me feel like I have no right to even complain about what we are going through because all things considered I have it easy as heck – I don’t have to worry about one single other thing than this little baby and her ridiculous schedule. Our pets take care of themselves, our house is small and Gates pretty much handles the cleaning, I don’t have any other kids to keep alive, I’ve got frozen meals prepared for ions and we also love takeout, and I’ve got a Netflix full of crap and a Facebook newsfeed to scroll through to help pass the endless hours of breastfeeding time, and snacks popping out at me around every corner. My life is pretty awesome, and someday I’m sure this kid will look at me with eyes full of love and wonder and say, “Mom, my beloved mother – who created me with love and grew me and nurtured me and birthed me, and tended to my every need – thank you so much for all that you did for me to make sure I had every chance in life to become something amazing. Thank you for all that you did for me in my early days on earth, for all the time you spent making sure that I never went without food or shelter, for bathing me in your unconditional love. I will never, ever stop appreciating you for all that you’ve done for me – and I will spend every day of my life showing you the love that you so graciously did for me”. Right?

Oh and before you start thinking WOW look at Rosie, bitching about her kid’s horrible eating schedule and calling her a monster, LOOK at her – still has time to type up a snarky blog post and has the nerve to complain about not having time for herself… OBVIOUSLY I am not just sitting here blogging and eating bonbons –

I am sitting here blogging, eating Skittles, and milking myself like a cow. So zip it.

In closing, here are a zillion pictures of my adorable, crazy, amazing little creature: