hooray for boobies. or: the eye twitch.

It seems that I’ve developed a bit of an eye twitch. Today is Thursday, and I am still tired. The twitch began its involuntary trickery with my left eyeball early Tuesday morning.  My child is still not letting me sleep. He has a dependency on my breast. As in, he won’t sleep. Unless it’s in his mouth.  All night long. He is sick this week, so I’m too weak and tired to fight him off, which means that when I’m tossing and turning, and not sleeping and exasperatedly asking my husband what time it is in the middle of the night, I find myself secretly hoping it’s closer to the 6:00 am wake up time than not. In the past I’d pray it was closer to midnight, so I’d have a chance to sneak in a few winks. These days, I know there’s no chance at sleeping, so I just hope it’s later. It’s always earlier. 1:00 am or so. The twitch, as my good friend Dr. Google tells me, is a sign of chronic sleep deprivation and stress. Imagine that! A year of sleep deprivation is all it takes, my friends, until your physical appearance takes on the inner insanity and craziness one feels internally due to a lack of quality z’s. 

So yesterday, I took a ‘me’ day. Monday, my head was killing with a migraine. Tuesday, the eye twitched. Wednesday, I handed off the kiddo to my in-laws without revealing my evil sinister plot of staying home in my pajamas, eating ice cream in bed, and SLEEPING. Which I fulfilled. I slept from 7:15-11:30 am. I hadn't looked at a time that late on my cellphone since I was gestating the little monster. I woke up, inhaled a Trader Joe’s salad, followed it up with some of my husband’s stashed mint chocolate chip ice cream, (it was the least I could do, seeing as how he gobbled up 50% of my chocolate stash I thought I had so cunningly hid on the bookshelf in the living room), and laid back down in bed for another hour or two. Sprawled, diagonally, even. The sleep was heavenly, but I did not wake up feeling like a miracle took place. Fully rested, it seems, will take more than one day of playing hooky. I think it was enough energy, however, to make it through the next day. The next week. Keep on trucking. But as soon as my husband and son walked through the front door of our apartment yesterday evening, the twitch came back. And another sleepless boob stolen night awaited me. So the twitch is in even more full force today.

I feel like a creep. Who does that? Twitches their eye? I wish I could turn it off. But it refuses.

I love my kid. He’s my everything. But you guys already know that. Or at least anyone who reads this blog, follows me on Facebook or Instagram does. It’s all I ever post about. Or take photos of. It makes me feel really boring. But let’s face it, the kiddo’s cuter than me. And he’s more interesting (at least to me) than griping about boredom at work or my lack of social life. I can’t believe it’s already been a year. He turns one in 18 days. I really don’t know how I’ll survive the process of weaning from breastfeeding. The kid’s absolutely insane. He won’t sleep unless my breast is suctioned in his mouth. Not feeding, not drinking, just suctioning, or pinching. Like one of those plecostomus fish. Holding it hostage. Whining and crying if I dare remove myself to try and get some sleep. Another cool trick he’s taken up recently? Fingering my belly button. Have you ever had to bat away persistent tiny claws, hellbent on digging and scraping in your belly button? It’s absolutely terrifying. But is it worse than ‘changing the radio dial’? (aka titty twisting the nipple not in his mouth)? I don’t know. Both really, really suck. But it keeps him quiet and subdued. My husband doesn't always get it. He thinks the kiddo would need a bottle, and I’m just complaining about our son’s never ending appetite for milk and how tired I am. But the kid is not hungry. He is not even drinking! He’s just an asshole. But I love him. God how am I going to do this. But it’s time. My body is saying it’s time. My supply is going extinct. My eye is twitching. My body is changing. So, sorry, little guy, but your whole milk diet starts today. 

My hope is that I publish this post today, and can look back on it 4-6 weeks from now with a deep sigh of relief. A feeling of victor and accomplishment. The end of the road. The light at the end of the tunnel. We will all sleep through the night like restful little babies. My breasts will once again belong to me, instead of a mean, twisting and break dancing, masochist.

In addition to the goblin turning one in a couple weeks, I’ll celebrate my second mother’s day as a mom. The first, of course, being day 3 of induction, day 1 of his life. This year, we’ll host a Yo Gabba Gabba themed birthday party, as an excuse to give the boob sucker toys and cake. A couple weeks later, I’ll turn 32. That’s insane to believe, as I don’t ever recall turning 31. I think I was hiding in my in-laws living room with a tomato faced screaming alien, while the rest of the family ate BBQ. But I’m not sure. I just remember feeling very sad and invisible and not knowing what the hell to do. The last time I celebrated my birthday, I was hungover, freshly 30, on an airplane from Minneapolis to Chicago, following a weekend with my close pals in the Twin Cities. It was a fun weekend, sure not to be topped within the next decade. This year, I’ll be content sleeping. Maybe dancing. But that may be asking too much. Evening babysitters are hard to come by, especially when the usual round of volunteers would be guests at said night out.

Another aspect of craziness is that I always envisioned 32 being the designated mark of an adult or benchmark of ‘old’ or responsibility. Reason being, my mom gave birth to me when she was 32. So I always thought the years prior, (despite her having already been a mother since the age of 17), meant that that was her life, her time to experience adulthood without the heaviness and finality of being a grown up, grown up. And here I am, now. 32, just around the corner. 

Realizing nothing is different, yet everything’s changed. 

I’m married. A mother. Working a full-time job, downtown Chicago. A car owner. Wanting nothing more than to own my own home. Looks like I bought into the game of domestication. Settling down. I always thought I’d be a wild one, free spirit. Doing things differently. Chasing attention, fame even, something somewhere off the beaten path. Proving everyone and everything wrong – and right. But I’m here. Where I’m at. And I’m pleased. I’m happy. I’m proud.  And just so, so, tired.

I don’t want an eye twitch. I really don’t. But if it’s the trade-off for having bred and raised a kooky, cute kid, I’ll grin and bear it. The kid finally got a tooth. One. Everyone kept saying, 'oh, he still doesn't have a tooth? Just wait, when he gets one, they’ll all pop in at once.' Nope. Not the case. But that’s ok, I like his tooth. We named it Bobby. I only kind of feel it on my breast. Thanks, Bobby.

I’m at work right now. And I've had a mug of iced coffee. And a mandarin for breakfast. And I've done all the work that I can without input from others at the moment. It’s a real struggle, on days of corporate hostage, when I know there’s a million household errands that need to be completed, or a snug, warm bed waiting for me just a 45 minute train ride away.

I wish I had some sort of warm, meaningful theme or message to tie this post together. A conclusion. But I’m learning more and more, each and every day, that parenthood, adulthood, whatever this game is – it doesn't have a start and finish line. There is no feel-good lesson to have learned, like in some 30 minute sitcom, at the end. It just is. And keeps going. And you either have the strength to keep going, stay positive, or you don’t. but it doesn't define you. So I guess I shouldn't feel too badly for not having some enlightening boom factor to wrap up this post, either. But I do miss writing. It still comes naturally. Maybe someday, I’ll be able to come home and chase the passion. That is, when I’m not chasing a 20+ pound goblin around.  Til then, here’s to hoping my next post is a victory cheer. The end of an era. The freedom of my breasts.  The independence of the nips. Hooray for boobies. Ok, you get the picture. Til then. . . 

spring fever - an 11 month update on crazed motherhood.

one feels a certain sort of heaviness, when observing and/or snuggling their child when asleep. the exhaustion, the frustrations, the anxieties, they all seem to melt away and are magically replaced with this unspeakable bottomless channel of unfiltered admiration, adoration and deep love. a love like they've never known.

i say this now, because he's finally asleep. his tiny toes are curled up under my upper left thigh, his little arm curled up onto my torso. his messy blonde head laying just two inches from my elbow. who knows how long i have to attempt to type before he rises once again.

it's been a rough week. last week everyone (minus me) in my household was sick. the flu. a stomach bug of sorts. dad caught it first, then the little guy. then my poor mother in law got it when it was her day with the little one. 7 loads of laundry in four days. (5 sets of bedding). it was fun. and then once everyone seemed to have a clean bill of health - the REAL teething began. i mean, homeboy has been teething since he was four months old (now 11 months next week), but now it's real deal, cry cry crying, awake ALL hours. i haven't had as many 1am/5am parties since i was 21 living in wisconsin dells. but these parties are sober. and pretty much suck. it's just part of being a parent, i suppose. but man, what i would do if i could trade places. me be the puker. me have the insane oral pain. i wish i could take all the discomfort and suck it up and just be in hell. but i can't. instead, all i can do is make WOOP WOOP sounds and leap hurdles over my kiddo's head to distract him into laughing fits. or have such insane dance parties to MGMT, like this morning's, where he doesn't bat an eye after bashing his cranium into mom's face, nearly resulting in a black eye for him and a fat, bloody lip for mom. (seriously. he didn't bat an eye. i nearly however, burst into tears). instead, we used frozen bags of milk to apply on our wounds, and quickly resumed the living room boogie session, this time to some britney, bitch. 

more yo gabba gabba. some gerber brand cheeto snacks. more dancing and tickle fests. mom checks her work email (because she is working remotely, after all). frequent son grabs mom's boob out of her shirt breaks. because, this kid of mine is no longer nursing, he's straight up treating me like a kegorator and is filling up his tapper on an on-demand basis. one more month. . . 

but today was a good day. i've been fortunate enough where the little bugger is on his second nap of the day, which is unheard of as i understand it, for the entire week. he's finally catching up on some z's. we even got to take the absurdly expensive luxury stroller out for our first mother/son jog this morning. let me tell you, that stroller is a goddamn cadillac. the BOBs are totally worth the hype. AND I got to run 3 miles. but dude, pushing a 20 pound stroller with a 20 pound human in it? either my endurance completely went to shit in the last week and a half i had to take off due to crumby weather, or it's a tougher workout. that's good, though. i need some training and to bust my ass a bit. my first 5k of the year is right around the corner here in ravenswood, with the older bro the last weekend of april. we'll see how it goes. following our run, we had a bath and then while chilling on the couch for another yo gabba gabba binge, holden promptly vomited all over my crotch. so, that was cool.

i'm just so fucking grateful spring is here. my kid is no longer a weird alien baby. he's this person. this full fledged, little boy. getting baby boners. having boogers on his face. constant dirty fingers. babbling full sentences, grunting and HEY'ing, pointing, waving. walking (albeit, still holding onto shit), all over the damn apartment. standing on his own. laughing. petting the cats. pulling their tails. mad drum solos on the pots and pans in the kitchen with dad. he's simply so much fun. (when he's not making me go goddamn crazy crying, screaming, whining and refusing to sleep). 

meanwhile, my life as an individual is going smoothly enough. my job is a job. any complaints i think in my head sound ridiculous when i try to say them out loud, so i keep myself in perspective and am grateful for the opportunity i currently have and am happy to be able to provide for my family. like this week, for example. i bought a mother fucking car. i've lived in chicago 9 years this july. 2 years in, my last car sputtered and croaked on hwy 90 coming back from wisconsin. when i learned the 89 camry required a new transmission, i said fuck it and never looked back on my days as a car owner. public transit, walking, biking all the way. fuck cars. rentals if necessary. but then an old acquaintance from highschool who sells cars for a living reached out with a reasonable deal. even offered to deliver it personally all the way from my hometown to chicago. the pricetag matched our tax return, and while we've been able to get by just fine bumming rides from whomever pities us, or zip carring it, or bundling the babe up like an immigrant in the colder weather - i finally sucked it up and admitted i'm an adult, a parent, and it's time i fucking suck it up. so i did. the car's nothing super fancy, it's 15 years old. very simple compact car. but aesthetically, there are no dings or scratches. only took a quarter of a tank of gas for the 3 hour drive from wisconsin, which is unheard of. and it'll suit our needs for groceries, doctor appointments and trips back to wisco just fine. other than that, we'll still be hoofing it up and relying on the ole cta. (gotta build up that babe's immune system somehow, amiright?)

but yeah. weird. i have a car. i'll admit, i still haven't driven it further than the half block drive from the bank parking lot down the street where it was dropped off and the baller parking spot i scored in front of our apartment. i guess tomorrow will be our first 'family spin.' man. am i a yuppie now or what? what's next? the suburbs? (ummmmm. shit).

now that it's spring, i'm elated that me and H will get some exercise in. strolls in the park, friday/saturday jogs. trips to the perfect cup - last summer's daily coffee jam. and if all works out, vin and i may even have a date tomorrow night. we haven't gone out for drinks together in MONTHS. for valentine's day, we did manage to sneak out to check out the new sushi joint in the neighborhood, but it was BYOB and i was a boob and forgot the wine. so yeah, looking forward to getting my tips on and remembering what it's like to be a wife, with a significant other, vs. a partner in crime chasing a little shawtie around. 

the handsome one is still softly snoozing beside me. we're all curled up under the super soft fuzzy comforter my mom gave me for christmas, surrounded by a mountain of pillows. the radiator is hissing (although unnecessary), and the wind is quietly howling outside the window. my work day is complete, and i'm still on an adrenaline high from our earlier run.

his eyes are open, now. wide and baby blue. guess that means i best sign off before he starts contributing to the post. til next time - he's smiling at me now. heart - melting.