City

First of all, to any would-be breastfeeding mamas out there, if you, like me, idly wondered what it would be like to be engorged, and gee willikers, would I even know? Yes, yes, you would know. It’s like someone took a pile of rocks and not-so-gently placed them into your boobs without warning. I experienced this, by the way, at the hand of an extra-long nap my girl so kindly handed us Monday afternoon. The solution was to nurse it off, and I learned not only by experience, but from frantically e-mailing my friend Amanda, who promised long-ago to offer breastfeeding support when I needed it. (And dude, she’s more than delivered on that front,and has been awesome. They don’t call her Mandajuice for nothing.)

Anyway! I hesitate to say this, but things are marginally better. I mean, I’m still a co-sleeping parent with an elaborate series of ritualistic routines to get her to sleep at night without screaming, but whatever. Small victories, people, small victories.

First off, in retrospect, I’m not sure the specialist was needed for us so much as for the pediatrician on call who handled Sam’s reflux. Dude did not know what to DO with her, and he just panicked, sent her off with a scary diagnosis and ran away. I think he thought since he’d thrown her the biggest gun he had — the Prevacid — that this was time for DEFCON 1-level action. And don’t get me wrong — I’m glad he did, because thanks to him, she’s being treated by someone who has a clue, but really, had he been a little more ballsy, we could have saved a lot of tears. Um, mine, that is.

(Btw, she’s now on Zantac and it seems to be helping. Zantac! Of all things! The pansy-ass first line of reflux drugs! That tastes like melted toothpaste! Gross!)

Now, for my plate of crow: it appears we DO have colic AND wicked bad reflux. How delightful! We shall revel in the screaming! The only consolation is that colic usually resolves in ~three months, ergo, there may be signs of even FURTHER improvement then. I’ll take it.

For the record, the colicky hours-long screams she’s had since the Zantac are WAY WAY different than the painful, ear-searing reflux screams. WAAAAY different. Painful, yes, but not so obviously painful for HER. Who knew I’d be happy about colic? Yay, colic! We welcome your *temporary* presence!

Moving on! You’d think all this screaming put a damper on my TV time, but you’d be wrong. Turns out, when you’ve got a screaming kid, there is little else to DO but either turn up the music or the television while you’re dealing, because there isn’t any other way to cope. And for the record, it doesn’t keep her up or distract her. We’ve tried silence, soothing music (rain! snow! white noise! whatever! I think Adam bought the entirety of white noise offerings on iTunes) and it makes no difference whatsoever.

And so, my child has been subjected to many, many late-night viewings (well, listenings, as her back is to it) of the Sex and the City movie, as it’s on ALL THE DAMN TIME, which features a gratuitous sex scene with Miranda and Steve that honestly, I could have just flat-out done without. It’s awkward, sweaty, strangely unnecessary, and, because I’m apparently a closet prude, I just kept thinking how UNCOMFORTABLE it must have been to film, given that these are REGULAR ACTORS and not, say, porn stars. Or fluffers, even. Jesus.

Also, and I’ve said this before, Sarah Jessica Parker is NOT a good actress, and the character of Carrie Bradshaw is painfully self-centered, and frankly insufferable, and I don’t understand how the series kicked off such a bona-fide phenomenon. I never identified with a single SATC character, experience or relationship, nor did I really have aspirations for any of them. I mean, really, does one really wear a sequin hat with their pajamas with a fur coat out of the house? Really? COME ON. And the LOOK on her face! The calculated, “I am so fashionable, please examine my daring choice of headgear”-LOOK on her face.

God, I despise SJP. DESPISE.

This is likely because I am a homebody with a history of being in the marching band and the fashion sense of an LL Bean catalog at BEST, but still! I lived in a city once! And was single for about five minutes in my twenties before I met my husband! And … oh forget it. I am not its target audience, I accept this.

Further, it dawned on me that my daughter shares a name with one of the women (yes, this just occurred to me), and that there’s a chance people might thing I did it on purpose.

Dude, how good is Real Housewives of New York City this season? And it’s SOLELY because of the Bethenny/Kelly war, and most specifically, Kelly’s stupidity. Oh, Kelly. Easily the best character on reality television for pure dumbassery alone, although I sense she will be outdone with the RH of New Jersey, because really, NEW JERSEY. My almost-homeland (I grew up literally on the border, about an hour from Newark). I’m fully expecting Sopranos-like drama, and will be bitterly disappointed if I don’t get it.

I hope you have a great week. And further, I hope to see you again later this week, maybe. I’ve figured out how to shower almost every day (bouncy seat, y’all), so maybe I’ll figure out how to blog when and if she finally sleeps.

O happy day!

*Sara Bareilles

35 comments April 29th, 2009