Why we will never all STTN at the same time.

Sleeping through the night (STTN) is a four letter word to me.  Oh, look at that … STTN really IS four letters!  Wow.  Oh, um, I was talking about something, huh?  Anyway … EVERYONE thinks Sabine should STTN but she is no where near agreeing with them.  We are lucky to get four hours out of her on most nights.  This is really ok with me.  I don’t mind getting up with her at all.  What I DO mind is the constant unsolicited advice I get on how to make her sleep longer.  She will sleep longer when she is READY.  End of story.

So, Last night Sabine went to bed at 10pm.  I fell asleep shortly after, had to be up at 5am to get ready for work.  2am (when she normally wakes up) I wake up, Sabine is still asleep.  3am, still asleep.  I silently thank her for the extra hour.  4am, still asleep.  I’m THRILLED!  Six hours of sleep!  So wonderful! 

By 4:30am I am so exicited I can no longer sleep at all (which, by the way, defeats the purpose of baby STTN) so I wake up Brandon and say “Bean is going to f-ing sleep through MY night!”.  He, obviously, doesn’t care because he is now not sleeping through HIS night.
 
Five minutes later, Sabine wakes up hungry.  Murphy’s friggin’ law.

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Happy Easter, all!

Happy Easter, everyone! This year was infinitely more fun with Sabine around … even though she didn’t really know what the hell was going on. We made sure to buy her LOTS of candy, then took the hit for her and ate it ourselves. So sweet of us. She ended up with some books, a stuffed bunny, a wicked tie-dyed dog from my mom, and a mesh feeder. Now, I know she can’t use the mesh feeder for, oh, three more months, but I’m so obsessed with the dang thing I decided to just buy it and put it away for future use. I bought her crib six months before she was born, why not a mesh feeder three months before she can use it?

And now, some pics (from Easter and some from before) …

All of her Easter goodies:
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Sabine’s Easter bunny was MILK chocolate (har, har):
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Some inappropriate behavior we should probably get a handle on:
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What? You were expecting a bunny, maybe?
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The happy Easter girl:
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Excuse me … I’m busy sitting like a big girl. You can go now:
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Yeah, that’s my soccer ball. What of it? Ok I liked. Its the dog’s:
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Why do we have a cat that’s bigger than me, mom?
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I swear I have a pretty baby.

I really do.  I just take shitty pictures, so you can’t tell.  I think I have the most gorgeous daughter in the world.  I know ALL moms do, but really, she is beautiful.  But I swear, sometimes I look at pictures I’ve taken of her and I think “That’s not my baby.”  I can never catch the cuteness!  She has these killer grins and I always get her mouth at the biggest gaped moment so she looks like she’s screaming.  Or when she has one eye closed.  Its ridiculous.

I’m sure part of it is that I have just a plain ol’ Nikon Coolpix digital that I use … but, I’m just not willing to shell out the cash for a better camera.  Maybe I’ll start using my old Pentax manual 35mm SLR.  At least my pictures rocked on it.  I bet the Walmart photo people would give me odd looks.  Does anyone even develop film anymore!?

Anyway, here are a few craptastic pictures of my (I SWEAR TO YOU!) heavenly, gorgeous, fabulous, child:

See? Really a smile.
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Dangly things are stoopid.
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We wake up like this at 3am. Not fuzzy, but smiley.
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Again, the baby is no fuzzy … just the picture.
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I’m a slave to my boobs.

*Sigh*  My boobs own me.  And not in a good way.  Before I rant for a minute, let me tell you that I am EXTREMELY happy that I am able to breastfeed.  I love the bonding time with my daughter.  I love how much she is growing on my milk, especially when the doctors were so worried about her size.  I love that breastfeeding has been SO extremely easy for me … no latching problems, no pain, no thrush (knock on wood), etc.

That being said … I AM SO DAMN TIRED OF BEING TIED TO MY DAMN PUMP.  I pump while at work, if you cannot already tell.  I have an oversupply to begin with (which sometimes causes Sabine to choke, or pull off and spray her AND me in the eye with my milk, but that is an entirely different rant) and pumping is a careful balancing act for me.  I want to pump enough to not be engorged and leaky all the time (I am QUITE leaky ALL the time) but not so much that I send messages to my boobs to make MORE milk, making me MORE leaky and engorged all the time. 

So, I plan my day around pumping.  You want to meet at 9am?  No can do.  I will be pumping.  You want to go to lunch?  As long as we’re back by 12:45, because I’ll need to pump then as well.  You need me to stay later than 6pm?  No can do.  My boobs will be ready to burst again at that time, and I cannot fit any more damn bottles in my damn bag than what I already bring.  I would have to dump some, which would make me very sad.

This is how ridiculous my pumping has become … you know how hearing your baby cry, looking at your baby, or even thinking about your baby, can trigger let down?  Looking at my pump does that to me.  I’m not even joking.  Damn you, oxytocin. 

I swear, when I am done BFing, I will take my pump out into the street and smash it into a million tiny pieces.  No, actually, I lied.  I won’t do that, because I will be doing this same exact thing again for the next child we have.  I guess its a true love/hate relationship. 

Geezus Maneezus … and an intro …

Ok, so, WordPress is hard.  I consider myself to be decently proficient at the internet but I cannot for the life of me figure out how to add a Widget to my stupid fracking page.  That, however, is neither here nor there.  Let’s get to the point …

Hi, my name is Jenn and this is a blog about being a mom.  And about my daughter, Sabine.  In it you will (eventually) find mom stories, mom tips, and probably some fascinating discussions on poop (because we moms talk about poop A LOT).  This all stems from my husband’s complaint (HI BRANDON!) that Sabine is featured no where on my MySpace page.  Honestly, I’m a little paranoid about having my baby on a social network so she is, instead, on a blog.  Cause that makes lots of sense.  Riiiiiiight.

To contine … You may have noticed that this blog is called “The Baby Formerly Known as Optimus Prime” or TBFKAOP for short.  That is because, before we knew Sabine was a girl, she was called Optimus Prime.  Simple enough, right?  When we found out she was a girl we obviously could no longer call her Optimus Prime (And Black Arachnia was vetoed, right Brandon!?) but we had not settled on a girl name.  Therefor, she was called TBFKAOP in the interim.  Like another famous formerly-known-as, her name was then shortened to a symbol.  Her symbol looked like this:

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Now she can punch you all.  Three times.

Anyway, that is the background on us, and the blog.  When I think of something witty to say I shall write more!