Boobs

When I was I-don't-remember-how-old-but-way-too-young, maybe fifth grade, I started needing a bra. Not, like, "That is probably smart whenever we get around to it," but more like, "Dang, that kid has some boobs!"

For the longest time, I was mortified of the twins. I made my mom buy me my bras, I crossed my arms over my chest, you know the drill. Anything a 5'2", 110 lb girl with a D cup would do in high school to keep them hidden.

As I got older, I started to get more used to them. I bought them nice, pretty bras, named them (Hall and Oates). On occasion, they would do things in return for me - get guys to buy me drinks, etc. I still kind of saw them as a nuisance that was hard to dress around, however.

It sometimes feels like the last 13.5 months of my life have centered around my chesticles. It is more accurate that it has had to do with Alice's need to regularly drain them of nourishment, but it would shock you how many times a day my breasts come into my brain.

Anyway. Nursing is still going strong, despite a record-breaking number of setbacks (that is its own blog). It is a lot like wrestling an angry badger sometimes, but I do love the closeness with my girl.

A Funk

I haven't been able to post much lately. I have been in a funk.

Alice's birthday went great, lots of friends came. The next week, she came down with croup. A few days later, a staph infection (about which I had tried to get her in, but they put us off for almost a week until it got bad), and then... Pickle broke her arm. I feel like a total failure, even though the orthopedist explained we couldn't have prevented it, and it is common for super-active babies. It is a buckle fracture, caused by falling. Which toddlers do. But my baby barely got to a year before we broke her! I know I couldn't do anything besides wrap her in bubble wrap... But I wanted to protect her from any pain ever. I pray daily that she has a long, healthy, happy life that is free from pain or want, and I wish she wasn't hurt.

I usually try and stuff my deep feelings about Maddie down where they don't hurt so much, but they have come out in great gasping sobs a few times lately. That sounds overdramatic, but it is the best description I have. I call them "bad Maddie days" - I remember her, love her, talk to her every day, but it is just hard, and the funk... It doesn't help.

What a grim post. Gah.