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Baby diary: 27 weeks
Jun. 19th, 2019 10:33 pm Another vaccination, another low-grade fever in the night. It's Alan's reactions that are changing: to my astonishment, he didn't even react to getting jabbed in the thigh (plenty of padding, but...) And he took the 5AM baby Tylenol better, too, just another weird but sweet substance I stuck in his mouth without his consent.
I didn't write about this, but for a few weeks I was quite bruised -- Alan would claw me with the "raking grasp" whenever he felt insecure and needed to grip on, and pinch my breasts, and bite me on purpose when it seemed I was not gazing down at him in sufficient adoration while feeding. :P He thought it was a fine joke and would laugh, until once I yelled "ow" loud enough to shock him. One of the other yoga moms weaned her baby at 6 months due to the biting. I didn't know what to do, other than what I might with a puppy: say "no" firmly and take the boob away. Not sure he understands, but at least these behaviours seem to be tapering off.
Everything is ephemeral, put another way: I don't know how long I'll breastfeed him, but it's probably a matter of months, and then who knows if I'll ever do it again. Like pregnancy, a strange experience that seems like the New Normal while it's happening, and difficult to remember afterward. Going back to Kristeva, there's a sexual dimension to BF that's undeniable, even though purely by analogy. You're pressed up against another human being, sharing heat, trying to make the contours of your bodies fit while engaging in coordinated physical activity. (Leaning on one elbow, straining my shoulder, him craning his neck up slightly, holding breast with both hands or arm slung dramatically over eyes, balancing lying on his side with his feet propped up on my bent knees...) Then when you're done, you each roll to one side, sweating and sighing. Adjusting clothes, rubbing eyes (oxytocin makes one tear up, I'm sure, rather than crying releasing oxytocin)
Another subject, maybe? Alan's current favorite songs are "Purple Bamboo Melody," and Enrique Iglesias' "Ring My Bells." It's not even a single. Ironically the album is called Insomniac, but the song (a clubby R&B jam) puts him to sleep.
I didn't write about this, but for a few weeks I was quite bruised -- Alan would claw me with the "raking grasp" whenever he felt insecure and needed to grip on, and pinch my breasts, and bite me on purpose when it seemed I was not gazing down at him in sufficient adoration while feeding. :P He thought it was a fine joke and would laugh, until once I yelled "ow" loud enough to shock him. One of the other yoga moms weaned her baby at 6 months due to the biting. I didn't know what to do, other than what I might with a puppy: say "no" firmly and take the boob away. Not sure he understands, but at least these behaviours seem to be tapering off.
Everything is ephemeral, put another way: I don't know how long I'll breastfeed him, but it's probably a matter of months, and then who knows if I'll ever do it again. Like pregnancy, a strange experience that seems like the New Normal while it's happening, and difficult to remember afterward. Going back to Kristeva, there's a sexual dimension to BF that's undeniable, even though purely by analogy. You're pressed up against another human being, sharing heat, trying to make the contours of your bodies fit while engaging in coordinated physical activity. (Leaning on one elbow, straining my shoulder, him craning his neck up slightly, holding breast with both hands or arm slung dramatically over eyes, balancing lying on his side with his feet propped up on my bent knees...) Then when you're done, you each roll to one side, sweating and sighing. Adjusting clothes, rubbing eyes (oxytocin makes one tear up, I'm sure, rather than crying releasing oxytocin)
Another subject, maybe? Alan's current favorite songs are "Purple Bamboo Melody," and Enrique Iglesias' "Ring My Bells." It's not even a single. Ironically the album is called Insomniac, but the song (a clubby R&B jam) puts him to sleep.
