This here bringer of the pooper to the fun party

RE: HOW ABOUT I TAKE AWAY YOUR BINKY, YOU BITCH!

I never knew that the binky was such a political issue, and when we took away Leta’s pacifier earlier this week we apparently took away the Internet’s pacifier, and the Internet is PISSED.

According to the Internet Leta is going to suck her thumb until she turns 12 or 13 years old, all because I denied her the pacifier in her fourth month of life. Someone even suggested that she’ll suck her thumb for the rest of her life and that the only way we’ll be able to cure her of that habit is to AMPUTATE HER HAND, so I’d better “stop being so mean” and give her the damn binky back.

And then there was the suggestion, repeated over and over in my inbox, that I let her put the binky back into her mouth herself, duh. In case you haven’t been following along, Leta is only four months old. She possesses the hand-eye coordination of a slug. She can pick up that binky and put it back into her mouth about as well as she can wipe her own ass. Oh, didn’t I tell you? Leta changes her own diapers.

(Leta, when you read this in 10 years please know that I compare you to a slug in the most loving way possible. I love you, little slug!)

From the sound of the criticism I received this week you’d think that Jon and I just woke up one morning and said to each other, “Hey, I’ve got an idea! Let’s take away Leta’s pacifier today. It will be a lot of FUN!” Because that’s all this kid means to me, a good time. Let’s take away her soothing mechanism and watch her SCREAM, it should provide hours of laughter and merriment. And let me tell you, I haven’t had this much fun since my OBGYN took a pair of scissors and sliced a two-inch gash in my vagina. THAT was a fucking riot.

Maybe I should mention the email someone sent me a couple weeks ago suggesting that the reason Leta screamed so much was because I DIDN’T LOVE HER ENOUGH. That’s right, I don’t love her enough or “pick her up and comfort her.” PICK HER UP? WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT?? You’re supposed to pick these things up? Why don’t they tell you that at the hospital?

If you can’t tell already I’m a little grumpy. Okay, really grumpy. Monumentally grumpy, engaged in the redefinition of grumpy. I haven’t slept in almost seven days because of all the good times we’re having. But you know what? Do you want to guess what happened last night? Leta slept for 10 HOURS IN A ROW. TEN. T-E-N.

10!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s one, two, three, four, five — wait, I need to catch my breath because there are so many numbers to count . . . phew, okay, that’s better, where was I? — six, seven, eight, nine, TEN.

The most Leta has ever slept up until last night was six hours in a row, and that was a side-effect of her two-month immunizations. It only happened once, and since that night the longest she has ever slept in a row is three hours. Taking away her binky has TRIPLED her sleeping capacity. That can’t be a bad thing, right? Oh wait, I forgot. If my baby sleeps that long that means I’m neglecting her. I’ll never learn!

Guess what else happened? No, guess. GUESS!!

She started eating! During the day! In the daytime! When it was day outside! MY BABY EATS, WHO KNEW?

Just because Leta slept ten hours, however, doesn’t mean that I slept any of those hours, any at all whatsoever. I woke up every hour and half hour waiting for the wailing, my heart clinched up in my throat. And then it got later and later, and the wailing never came, and when she finally woke up (10 HOURS LATER! REMEMBER?), my boobs were so full I could have sprayed milk 20 feet into the air. I hopped out of bed, two rock hard concrete traffic mounds on my chest and ran to my binky-less Wonderchild, attaching her to my boob before I even had her out of the crib. She could barely keep up with the flow, my boob a gushing fire hydrant that she was trying to stop with her mouth.

And there I go again talking about my boobs. GOD! To the person who sent me an email to tell me that all I talk about anymore are my boobs, and that all this talk about my boobs is alienating my core audience, SORRY CORE AUDIENCE! Would you prefer I talk about my ass? The STORIES I could tell you about my ass.

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