Baby's got taste

This is not a sponsored post, because, people, please. I have twelve readers. 

Breaking news: Baby Grady has finally found a bottle that he approves of. He actually chugs from this thing. It's completely baffling to me.

I'll be honest, I didn't even want to buy the damn thing. And I wouldn't have. But the shop was out of the bottle I did want. So the shopgirl recommended the Medela Calma, and I thought, "Of course you do; it's a $20 baby bottle." I looked it over, convinced it would not address my problem. I told her that it would not address my problem and that I was really more into boob-shaped bottles these days. Something like the Comotomo, perhaps. And she said they didn't carry that, but they got a sample and I could have it. (I was clearly being extremely chatty and pathetic and it was a pity bottle, no doubt.)

So I'm thinking she's a damn fool for not carrying this great boob-shaped bottle, but I also feel like I can't just take her pity bottle without buying something, and I am such a sucker like that. But it would be bad manners, it seems. So I buy a designer bottle brush and the damn Calma. (I am an etiquette overachiever, clearly.) (And I really love that bottle brush, too.)

For the next week, I keep giving Grady the Comotomo. I'm convinced we're making progress. And maybe we are. The soft sides allow for squeezing milk out, so, I mean, we are putting milk in the baby. And some of it is being swallowed. But it's messy, and he's only occasionally sucking. Which means I am getting ever more stressed about the whole thing where I am supposed to go back to work. Because, I really can't do that if my baby can't eat.

Meanwhile, the Calma sat there on the counter, unopened. Because I knew it would not address our problem.

One evening I mentioned to Jasper that we still had one future-reject of a bottle sitting on the counter and that maybe I'd go ahead and try it, just for funsies. He approved. And I did.

And I was completely wrong about you, Calma. I don't know why, because Baby Grady is still often a complete mystery to me, but he seems to actually enjoy that darn bottle. Provided the milk is at precisely his preferred temperature. Obviously.

Who’s got the funk? [Subtitle: I am no longer afraid of my breast pump]

I don’t mean to brag or anything, but it turns out that when it comes to lactating, I’m what they call an overproducer. (I can hear my mother saying, “Oh, of course you would be.” Hi, Mom!) So, yeah, an overproducer. No big deal. Except that the volume of my milk was a bit much for little Grady to handle. It was basically like he was doing a keg stand every time he tried to nurse. Bonkers, I’m telling you. Milk everywhere. He was managing, gamely in fact, but I wondered if there wasn’t something I could do to make this easier. We tweaked our positions, and that helped some, but the real relief for everyone came when I started pumping every morning. Taking five or six or more ounces off the top seemed to be just the ticket to set our day on the right path. After that, Grady can keep up, I’m no longer soaking through all my clothes, and everyone’s more comfortable.

I confess I became a little addicted to my morning routine. Watching those little bottles fill with milk is strangely empowering. It’s kind of a lot of liquid food to come from one’s own person. Food I made. I’m sure I sound nutty, but, I mean... I’m making food over here! With my boobs!

Accordingly, I became a bit obsessed with my stacks of bagged breast milk in the freezer. Like I was stocking up for a post-apocalyptic dystopian future, with fewer canned goods. Incidentally, this is hereditary behavior. Granny J and Gumpa’s basement makes them look like members of a rural militia, without the guns. Now that you understand the satisfaction I was deriving from my milk-hoarding, you are ready to hear how then it all went terribly wrong.

You may have heard of how some women have funky milk. You probably haven’t, because who talks about this? Well, I do, and I had heard, but thought that wouldn’t be me! And I am a damn fool. After an afternoon of total bottle rejection from Mr. Grady, we discovered that my stored milk starts to taste soapy after just a few hours in the fridge. Given ten hours, it is utterly vile. We’d given Grady a couple of bottles before, but always with milk I’d just pumped a few hours before. But it turns out that my milk is high in lipase, or, in a word, FUNKY. It tastes great initially (yes, I have become a real connoisseur through all this), but undergoes a reaction when stored that ruins it. It isn’t spoiled, and is safe to drink, but it’s so gross that no self-respecting baby would. (I initially typed that as “elf-respecting,” and really wanted to leave it.)

The way around funky milk is to scald the milk right after pumping, which deactivates the lipase (or something) and keeps the funk from happening. Yeah, you aren’t supposed to heat breastmilk, because it kills some of the good stuff. But, lesser evil here. Scalded breastmilk is still the best option if you’re dealing with funky milk. But scalding is a pain. You have to stir the whole time to prevent a skin from forming (just like normal milk). And how the heck am I going to manage this when I go back to work? No clue. Any advice is welcomed. (Microwaving is a last resort, because it kills A LOT of the good stuff.)

But my stash? UNRECOVERABLE. Milk banks will apparently accept it, because they mix the milk together in huge batches and it gets diluted. But I don’t currently have enough for a donation and I’m not sure I want to pump just for that. And I feel bad saying that, but there it is. Once I get a decent stash going for Grady, I may change my mind.

And I don’t really have a conclusion for this post. I was just sharing.

[This post was brought to you by my Mobyish, where Grady has started actually taking decent-length naps from time to time. (Yeah, he’s the newborn who mostly gets by on just a couple of half-hour naps per day. Another time.)]

With Dad #3

Of note: Baby Grady's cheeks are red, because this was before I discovered (with Granny J's help) that Grady doesn't like when I eat tomatoes. Well, it doesn't actually seem to bother him, but it does give him hives. And he's so much cuter without hives! But it turns out that, left to our own devices, we eat a fair amount of tomatoes. (Italian and Mexican cuisines dominate our quick-and/or-make-ahead repertoire.) So, any suggestions for quick and easy meals without tomatoes? Bonus points for things that can be made in quantities to provide multiple meals. Put them right down there in the comments, please!

Hanging with Mr. Grady

I spend pretty much a ridiculous amount of time these days lounging around with my boobs out. Often they are feeding my baby, but sometimes also they are just out because I forget to put them away and also because the lactation nurse told me they like to get aired out. She also suggested sunning them, but we haven’t done that. It’s a bit cold out for toplessness. Which reminds me, have you ever had someone suggest going to a tapas bar, but to you it sounds like they are saying “topless bar”? And you think, well, as long as the sangria is as good as you say... Yep, me too.

So, the point of confessing how I spend my days is to explain the quiet around these parts. Life is slow. Good slow, but little in the way of events to report. And believe me... I can usually strangle a story out of a walk to the corner, but these days? Slow news days, I’m telling you.

Lately the snippets of eventfulness have turned out to be a bunch of non-stories, once I think about them.

Two days ago, Baby Grady and I walked over to the market and picked up some stocking stuffers (though we don’t actually have stockings, hmmm...) And I realized that now that Grady is outside of me, I really hate people talking to me about my baby. And that used to be my favorite! But now any comment sounds like a veiled threat to come closer and possibly even touch my baby. This hasn’t happened, but I am preemptively quite rude and dismissive, to discourage any such antics. It’s like a whole new side of me!

Yesterday, we signed Baby Grady up for daycare, all officially and with dates and deposits. He’ll go two days a week starting in May and while I didn’t cry, I know I would have if I’d thought too hard about it. Also, yesterday, my baby’s daddy noted that I am looking so fine for having just given birth so recently. He says this sorta regularly now! And I wonder if someone told him to, or if it was his idea? Because it’s like a whole new side of him!

Sometimes, like right now, I wish I had a snack stash within reaching-distance of my couch. Because, really? Fattening up this baby? High snacking demands. And this baby is growing more baby on the daily. He’s a pound-and-a-half up from his birth weight these days, which, well, that takes some serious milk production. So it’s really lucky that lactating was my secret undiscovered talent.

And with that I give you what you actually came here for. Pictures. Of a baby. Because while I may lack eventfulness and substance upon which to base a blog post, I still have a baby and a camera.

This is the emotional progression that Grady goes through approximately every ten minutes throughout the day...

Milk-drunk baby:

Thoughtful baby (he's thinking about boobs):

Baby with “put a boob in my mouth” face:

A “WTF, people, boob me!” baby headed for a meltdown:

Unrelated to boobs, this is a post-daddy-lullaby baby (dads have to have more sophisticated tricks):