Just sayin'

I'm almost certain that BP installed Baby Bano's blowout preventer. No wonder it doesn't work.

Snookie *wishes* she could poop like BB

In light of recent poopy events, including--but certainly not limited to--The Poo-pocalypse (I have spared you from the other nasty poo stories. You're welcome.), I have decided that Baby Bano is a truly crap-tacular, poo-mazing little lady and needs a poo-themed nickname.

Are you ready for it? I'm pretty impressed with myself on this one...

"The Shit-uation."

Fist pump!

The Poo-pocalypse

So there I was, minding my own business. (Actually, I'm pretty sure I was washing bottles.) Baby Bano was squirming more than usual in her bouncy chair, but seemed perfectly content. When I finished minding my own business washing bottles, (which I have to do, like, 500 times a day, thankyouverymuch) I walked over to pick up my beautiful baby girl...and I could SMELL the poo. (In case you didn't know, baby poop does NOT smell beautiful.)

Me: "Oh, you need a diaper change, huh poopy pants?"

BB: "Gurgle." Loving smile. DECEPTION.

Me: (picking her up) "Dang, you stink!" And then...(gagging) "Holy shit! You pooped EVERYWHERE! Oh, Christ, it's even up your leg! Ugghhhhhhhhh! Oh, fuck, it's on my ARM!" (More loud, indecipherable noises of disgust coming from me.)

Boo Boo approaches the bouncy around this time, sniffing, trying (like me) to figure out what the HELL just happened. And of course I freaked out because I was just SURE she was going to try to lick and/or eat the poo, which was ALL OVER in BB's bouncy seat. (I am so glad those things are washable.) So now I've got my arms full of poopy infant, poop ON my arm, and I'm trying to keep the dog away from the chunky yellow river of shit in the chair.  (Whoever said motherhood is "difficult" was severely underestimating the entire experience.)

Luckily, Boo Boo's interest in the poop quickly vanished and I dashed into BB's room, using my un-poop-smeared arm to grab a blanket to put under her on the changing table, and proceeded to wipe her down, wipe MYSELF down, wipe her butt, and change her diaper and her clothes. Once I'd accomplished this (about 10 or so baby wipes later), I had to figure out what the hell to do with BB while I cleaned up the gag-inducing mess in her chair. Luckily, we have an extra that we weren't sure we needed but has now proven its existence as necessary. So BB got to sit, gurgle, and smile (BETRAYAL!) while I used another 10 wipes to get the chunks out of the seat, ripped the cover off, loaded it up with Spray N' Wash, and prayed that it wouldn't stain. (It didn't. Spray N' Wash is the bomb.) (Dear Spray N' Wash, please send me some bottles of your fabulous product for giving it a plug. Aveeno hasn't come through yet so maybe you can set the example.)

What's scary is that I know--KNOW--this will happen again. Probably many times.

(SEVERELY underestimated. Seriously.)

Oh, my leaking boobs.

My boobs leak like a couple of sieves! If I don't pump every three hours and instead wait maybe six hours (you know, to SLEEP like a normal person, in between feedings), the pads are FULL. And I have one boob that leaks about twice the amount of the other. What's with that? I'm going through breast pads faster than she's going through diapers!

What's worse, if I hold her and haven't pumped in a while, they leak under my bra because the pads are full and then my shirt gets soaked. I've even had nights where I woke up not because she woke me up, but because my right boob leaked ALL OVER in bed. (That's the boob that leaks double. It also produces about an ounce more, on average, when I pump. I have no idea why.) Sometimes I'll go through a couple shirts in a day due to leakage. (Luckily I'm at home. Can you imagine what a pain in the ass this would be if I'd had to return to work?)

In late June I'll be helping with a volleyball camp at the high school I coach at. It's an all day event for four days, and I'm trying to figure out how to make it work, what with my boobs being like pin-pricked water balloons and all. The few options I have aren't very appealing. I can rush over to my grandparents' place during lunch (they live just down the street from the high school) and pump then, or I can try locking myself in the bathroom and pumping there. I have a car adapter but I think I might get arrested if I try pumping in the school parking lot. That probably wouldn't go over well.

Welcome to Motherhood

• My boobs hurt. Pumping sucks. I'm sure it would be just as bad if she was breastfeeding. Oh, and the onset of mastitis, TWICE, fucking sucks as well. Apparently I HAVE to pump every three hours or my boobs will retaliate. Freaking A.
• She makes the cutest faces when she's sleeping. And when she's awake. She's just damn cute.
• She sure shits a lot. Actually, I should say that she sharts a lot. (For those of you not in the know, that's a cross between a shit and a fart.) My god, she is a super sharter. And she alsmost ALWAYS does it when I'm feeding her, so it reverberates through my lap. It has literally STARTLED me several times, it is that loud and powerful. (She gets if from her father. Oh, and she's doing it as I type this. Luckily she's in her bouncy chair. Hopefully it's not another blowout.)
• Only getting to sleep for about three consecutive hours max really blows. Everyone warned me but you can't possibly understand until it's really happening. 
• (I decided to change the diaper. There was no poop. Um...that's some SERIOUS gas kid!)
• Someone asked me if I'm surprised by how many diapers she goes through. No. I am surprised by the number of wipes we've already been through. It's a good thing we got the Costco crate.
• (Oh, she's sharting again. There's the poop I was looking for earlier. Man, that kid can really blow it out her butt.)

Well, time to go pump. Again. And then take a nap while Mr. Clean takes over Baby duty.