Long Weekend: 1

Where have I been Saturday through now?

Well, I'll tell you: at the hospital.

When last we left our cheery cyber pages, I was catching up from the last week. I was thinking about a lovely cage match between clinical nurses and hippie lactation consultants. I was trying to make important decisions about my child's medical care without the benefit of a healthy therapeutic relationship. I was marveling at a semantic argument, and I was feeling distanced from my ability to make choices.

Granted, what I wrote was probably not expressed in the above manner because I was very tired. I am still very tired, but it is only 9:00 at night this time. Dozens of little writing crumbs have fallen between the stove and the cabinet, and perhaps with the right tool, they will come back to me as I reach back through the last few days, but in the meantime, this may be somewhat detached from emotion. And interesting content.

How about we start with the nurse pulling out a nipple shield and asking me if I wanted to try it?

The nurse said "I ordered a nipple shield. Do you want to try it?"

"I... um... er... uh... ok."

I don't like surprises or snap decisions, and I usually react with acquiescence.

My nipples are not sore or sensitive or otherwise damaged. They got over that long ago, in the first week of exclusive pumping. I was trying to get him away from the silicone sensation of pacifiers, but she had already said that "the insurance companies won't let him stay here if it is just because you want him exclusively on the breast" and the nurses had stood around talking about how I should try to breastfeed two to four times a day. Looking back now, with the knowledge that they were relentless and would just keep asking the unanswered questions until you caved, I could have been more assertive. I have already proven that I am not so good at that.

"F*&$ them! He's your goddamn baby," a friend said to me Friday night, and I have definitely been trying to keep that at the forefront of my mind, but certain personalities just shut me down. Stern Grandma reminds me of my Stern Grandma, who I loved but who made me crazy, so I can't cross her. I wither, in fact. She's all about the Extreme Diaper Cream, for instance, and I would never allow that stuff in my house with its ingredient list, but here I was, smearing it on my baby's bare bum because she told me to.

Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me?

Oops.

OK, so I guess this is not free from emotion...