I am on the bed and the baby is passed out beside me. Yes, at a safe distance and not on a pillow, laying flat and breathing fine sans soother – so settle down co-sleeping nay-sayers. But, he is finally asleep… and this is a precious moment because my little Jedi don’t do much snoozing as he believes he has Jedi powers because his daddy tells him so and therefore I cannot unsay this because I hear this parenting thing works best when you do it as a damn team. (So Daddy better be on board then, when I teach little Jedi about how mommy does math. Example: when something is marked $29.95 at the store then that means it is twenty dollars.) Yeah. Exactly. Goes both ways there Hubby, you screw me and I screw you right back. This baby is going to turn out great – a mathematically ignorant special child who thinks he can do magic (the Force = magic, correct? They’re like magic people, yes? In space… pew pew pew laser sounds and magic right? That’s Star Wars in my head.)

The Force = magic, correct? They’re like magic people, yes? In space… pew pew pew laser sounds and magic right? That’s Star Wars in my head.

Wow, holy crap did I ever get off track there. What pregnancy has done to my mental state is still coming to light and I think may be very very permanent. This blog might be a total write-off now as I’ve clearly gone crazy.

Continuing on then, today marks the moment in time we’ve decided to stop breast feeding (correction, stop trying.) I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned the troubles we’ve been encountering or not but here is the low down minus any sentiment or emotion because I’ve been upset enough over it and now it feels kind of numbing when I speak of it. Here we go. My breasts may look good people, but they suck at what they are actually meant for: producing milk. Let’s call a spade a spade here and admit that maybe a lot of my “boob” is only boob-like fat deposits because apparently I don’t have enough breast tissue to support the means of production. Now my doctor says not to be upset and feel like it is my fault. But, hello! It is my fault! Faulty boob maker right here, party of one. Nice looking ones I will repeat, but craptastic otherwise. From day one Jonah and I were having trouble, and now I see his earlier plummeting weight as a symptom of these lack lustre boobies. We ran the gamut of fixes. I tried breastfeeding Jonah every hour then we added pumping, drinking teas and throwing back Guinness. Finally we added drugs and even more patience and came up empty. Literally. Jonah drinks about six ounces of formula in one sitting and in one day I can produce less than an ounce of milk from both breasts, and no, I am not being dramatic for the sake of the blog. For a long time I was heartsick over this breast feeding fiasco… but now that we’ve decided to let it be and carry on with Jonah being a bottle baby, I’ve no choice but to check the emotions and move on. However, I will say to the other mommies out there, please cherish your ability to breastfeed your kids. It is a big frigging deal to those of us who can’t. No matter how much use of the Force we employ.

But the good news is this, Jonah is packing on the pounds and he is a healthy, beautiful, twelve pound month and a half old. He is smiling his first smiles and they make me cry like I’ve never cried. (This is horrible because he smiles, I start to cry and Jonah looks at me like I am bat-shit crazy and begins to cry himself. I scare my own kid. Perfection.)

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I’ve just asked Hubby how he thinks I should end today’s blog entry and he just shrugged and said he didn’t know. You may think this unhelpful but actually while asking him I received divine inspirations from the writing Gods. I instruct all family and close friends to not read these final and parting words.

So, breastfeeding is a no go and this makes us sad, but here is the silver lining. Hubby gets the boobs back! And here we thought he’d have to give them up long term … but wait a second here … is anyone thinking what I am? Surprise baby numero deux?!