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Notes From The 2.5 Week Trenches (and to remind us all why having new babies is soul-sucking):

*In possibly the most fitting display of irony (but not the Alanis Morisette kind), after a brief hospital admission (due to the baby becoming intolerant of my Crohn’s flare up) it was agreed by my team of doctors to induce my labor. The morning of the induction, I was already so ill that I needed my chemo meds to calm me down BEFORE I went into labor. It was the best I’d felt in months.

*Dave spent 99% of my labor alternately sleet ping or barfing due to a massive migraine which meant that…

*I spent 99% of my labor numb (which, despite it being better than pain, is somewhat claustrophobic), unable to reach the phone, and crying (damn hormones).

*Likely due to having made fun of Dave’s inordinate amount of recessive genes, I have spawned yet another child who looks nothing like me. In fact, Benjamin looks more like Dave than me. I ask you all, HOW IS THAT FAIR? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I SUFFERED FOR YOU, CHILD? /stepping off cross now.

*Breastfed babies shit constantly. And it sounds just like a cappuccino machine. There is nothing not awesome about this especially because The Daver is responsible for all Output.

*In spite of the constant sleep dep and the 7 lb child constantly attached to my chesticles, I haven’t felt this good in at least a year.

*I have an excessive amount of flatulence for no longer having a crotch parasite pressing into my guts.. Yes, gentlemen, I *am* taken.

*Having a baby that dislikes almost everyone except you loses it’s novelty after about Hour 6.

*Diapers are fucking expensive as fuck. I guess I got spoiled with Sir I Can’t Crap the first time around. This must be my comeuppance. I am totally aware that I misspelled that. And I don’t care.

*Yesterday he barfed on my nipples. He BARFED on my NIPPLES. HE BARFED ON MY NIPPLES. And then he peed on me.

(I need a nap)

My second son is a Boob Man. If they had a Boob-a-holics Anon. meeting for newborns, I’d be forced to take him. I’ve spent at least 60 of the last 72 hours with my titties hanging out and flapping in the breeze. And no, they are FAR too large now to flap. I had no idea how freaking scarily huge boobs get AFTER birth.

Here’s a sample conversation between The Baby and I (such a lack of sleep should be evident here):

Me: ‘I gotta pee.’

Him: ‘BOOOOOOOOOOOOOBBBBBBBBBB!’

Me: ‘That’s what you said 16 hours ago when I first mentioned that I had to take a pee.’

Him: ‘BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBBBBBBBBB!’

Me: ‘Please? I’ll buy you a Wii! Hell, I’ll buy you TWO Wii’s.’

Him: ‘BOOOOOOOOOOOOOBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBYYYYYYYYYYY!’

Me: ‘Fuck. Dave, hand me the catheter. Again.’

I prayed and prayed for this baby: the one who would eat happily from my breast without whining, complaining, and making me feel like a total failure as a parent (Ahem, BEN.) And I got him: spitting image of his father and all.

I guess the lesson to be learned here is the miracle you pray for may not always be the one you receive. And seriously, although my nipples may be cracked and bleeding and my tits rock hard and painful, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Life is sweet, Baby.

Welcome to the world, Alexander.

Born 5:18 pm 3/30/07
7lbs 10 oz
20 inches long

Dad and Baby are wonderful.

Mom is still an asshole.

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