Just Heather
The One Where I Repeatedly Mention My Boobs

Just when things were looking up—Brenia is finally better, Lorelai is beginning to sleep through the night, and Stacia is back at school after a seemingly endless winter break—it all starts over again.

Stacia came home from school yesterday, sick, with a tale of woe that was sure to be the highlight of every dinner conversation in the neighborhood—she threw up on the bus. A quick check determined she had no fever and the look I’ve seen a million times screamed sinus drainage. Such is life with allergies. She was fighting with her sister again by the time daddy came home so she’s at school today.

Brenia, on the other hand, is feeling crummy and home for the day. Not that she had big plans, but I was really looking forward to the start of the new session of my Bible study. I guess I’ll jump in next week. It wouldn’t have been much fun with Lorelai fussing all morning anyway. She’s pretty stuffy too, and, from the looks of things, will probably be dealing with allergies her entire life as well. It’s possible I can chalk hers up to teething since it is coupled with enough drool to fill a bucket, but I don’t have high hopes.

This was not supposed to happen, you know. I don’t let these kids gnaw on my boobs 10 times a day when they’re born to live a life of daily medication and regular trips to the doctor. I’m pretty sure when I got talked into this, I read somewhere that breastfed kids are healthier. What a crock of shit. This child has had exactly 12 ounces of formula her entire life, and always mixed with boobie milk. Nonetheless, she’s been sick twice now and she’s not even 3 months old.

Of course, with her utter lack of patience I don’t have a choice anyway. She’s very much into instant gratification. I can’t imagine listening to those screams while I dash off to prepare a bottle. Much easier to pop a boob into her mouth and move on with our lives. Have boobs, will travel. We won’t even discuss the ridiculous cost of formula—$11.99 for a small can of powder!—versus the free milk God gave me. I’m in this one for the long haul, allergies and all.

One Response to “The One Where I Repeatedly Mention My Boobs”

  1. Amen to the boobie! My husband used to mumble “Stick a boob in it” whenever the baby was crying.