UPDATE: Well, thanks to my ability to make horse noises out one side of my mouth (You oughta see it: It's quite a talent if I do say so myself); and because I was willing to haul giganto-baby around the neighborhood in his baby backpack yesterday, causing the space between my shoulder blades to ache to the point of numbness; and, furthermore, because I am willing to hide my face behind Wilder's huge Winnie the Pooh and talk to him in some crazy Latin, Antonio Banderas-like accent (Pooh is quite the Rico Suave in our household), I have once again fallen into Wilder's good graces.
Man, staying on a baby's good side is EXHAUSTING! : )
On today's roster:
1. More backbreaking baby hauling
2. Dancing like a hopped-up crack addict to "Viva Las Vegas"
... and who knows what else? Suggestions?
AND:
As of today, I am done with just over six months of pumping breastmilk for Wilder. For that time, I hooked myself up to a milking machine for two (at the end) to eight (at the beginning, including two+ hours in the middle of the night) hours every day. It was a darn-near full-time job, on top of a part-time job, on top of the full-time wonder of just being a mom. Whew, no wonder I'm tired! It was often thankless, although my unending gratitude goes out to Jerry for being supportive, keeping me company, knowing just when I needed an "attagirl!" and generally telling me how much it meant to him and, though he doesn't know it yet, Wilder. I never — NEVER — could have done it this long without my wonderful husband's support. And, in the end, it was well worth it. Wilder has still — knock on wood — never been sick a day in his life, and that's just awesome. So, now ... onto the cermonial burning of the breastpump!!!! (kidding.)
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