My Blog

Every morning I wake up with baby piss soaked into the side of my underwear, baby drool dried into the cup of my shoulder, husband fart wafting up from the depths of the bed, and long black hairs curled up on my pillow instead of my scalp.  I’m not sure if it’s the breastfeeding that’s making them self-eject, or the bihourly roll I have to make in order to administer the breastfeeding.  It could be that since I no longer have time in my life for daily showers, the hair I’ve been constantly shedding since birth has had to find another resting place besides the drain.  Either way it’s gross and I want it to stop. 

Not that I want to stop breastfeeding.  I mean, even though it’s making me ridiculously tired, dulling my skin, drying my hair, stunting my nail growth,  and making me out my tits ten times a day in front of my grandmother, it still has its upsides.  Zoe’s getting the best start she can, etc, blah, and I get to annoy and embarrass my friends by constantly talking about it.  Which, let’s face it, is my cause in life. 

Speaking of conversation topics between myself and my friends, what can be more interesting than my lactating rack?  Single life in New York?  Please.  I just have to justify myself with the promise that when they grow up, have an impulse civil service wedding, and accidentally get pregnant three months into the marriage, they’ll understand why there’s nothing else I can talk about even if I wanted to.  Which I don’t, cuz my boobs are awesome.