Spike's Bitches 33: Weeping, crawling, blaming everybody else
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
It's a Christmas miracle. Hec and Emmett left almost an hour ago to scour the city for Christmas trees, leaving me with a sweet and drowsy Matilda, planning to pop popcorn and wrap Emmett's (and possibly Hec's) present. Two minutes after they left, Matilda made "feed me" noises, and then when put to the breast started screaming as if the breast was a razor-edged icepick. Things that didn't help included: changing breasts, changing her diaper, walking her in the hall of magic lights, and bouncing, rocking, or singing to her. Going outside helped, so I took the boppy across the street and breastfed her in the stands at Kezar Stadium.
She's now semi-calm and nursing. She looks shattered and traumatized, but she's nursing. It's a miracle. Somebody pour me a Scotch.
I also get grumpier about flying as I get older and the more I have to do it. I find myself paying for upgrades and such when I can get them and really thinking it is money very well spent.
Direct flights are something else I try to do whenever possible.
ND is me. And Jilli. Which is quite an achievement, actually.
Dear dog, JZ. Matilda has only been here a few weeks, but she's already pretty "I Am Baby, Hear Me Roar," isn't she?
She's just... she seemed totally sincerely wounded or terrified or otherwise hideously stressed, not power-struggling. Even now, post-feed, she's wearing her Concern Face, like something awful is looming and she can't do anything to stop it.
Of course, it isn't helping that I'm still haunted by a wretched dream I had last night in which I dropped her on her head three times, leaving awful welts that looked like buttonholes and that I kept trying to hide with artful combovers of her scant hair lest CPS snatch her away.
And I should add that the giant baby meltdowns are actually less frequent than with other infants I've known, and that her baseline state is actually entrancingly contemplative, with occasional bursts of open-mouthed bliss and merrily conspiratorial grins.
(((JZ)))
(((((((Matilda)))))) <-- extra tight
I need to meet that little girl!
Matilda farted a couple times and seems to be in a better mood.
We have a tree! Finally. Emmett named it Bill. The lot near us wasn't open today! Kevin's Christmas Trees was locked up tight. Kevin, you're a loser!
But I sold a batch of LPs (bye bye Daydream Nation, bye bye The Queen is Dead) and had enough to buy vodka and root beer and Cheerwine at BevMo, and pasta at the supermarket and then get a tree. And it's up, and the lights are on it, and the popcorn is popped waiting to be strung and I guess that's a Christmas miracle.
Tomorrow we go to EM's house in the afternoon for xmas eve dinner. We'll stay over and celebrate Christmas morning. Then later in the day we'll head over to JZ's mom's house for Christmas dinner. And then we have Boxing Day dinner with Emmett's godparents.
The baby is zonkered now as JZ slow dances her around the living room to Christmas songs.
Cindy, if I've interpreted correctly, I need to tell you to stop trying to cook yourself. Ouch.
Yay for upgrades! Boo for having to listen to asshats next to you on a plane.
The baby is zonkered now as JZ slow dances her around the living room to Christmas songs.
Aww.
Deena, your luck wish worked! My grocery store trip was much like any other, with no line waiting and not too much extra crowdedness. And for sure no spilt wine or busybodies yelling at me.
Now I'm watching
Scrubs
on Comedy Central and eating formerly frozen taquitos.
Waltzes, right?
Whee!
Cindy, if I've interpreted correctly, I need to tell you to stop trying to cook yourself. Ouch.
Yes, Jen, I was very dumb. The finger is no worse for the wear. Who needs finger prints, anyhow. They're just tools of the man.
I am loving the mental picture of JZ and Matilda waltzing around the living room.
Hec, what is Cheerwine?
