First off, Milo teased me by taking an ounce of milk from the new breast-shaped bottle I was so excited about. He latched right on for Michael but only drank an ounce. He would NOT take the rest from me at his next feeding time, despite 45 minutes of trying various tactics.I had had high hopes for that bottle.
Anyway, Milo is still eating frequently and my nipples are still in mutiny over it. Somehow, between trying to catch just a few more zzzzs and feeding Milo again and again, it was 1:45 PM before we actually got out of bed. Which is sort of alarming, in a way.
We were both in a pretty good mood, though. I heated up my last frozen meal (hmmm, time to go grocery shopping I guess) and jumped in the shower. I thought I'd have time to top Milo off again but wound up rushing off to his 2 month pediatrician appointment. This always seems to happen...Milo is always hungry when we go and I'm afraid she is going to think we don't feed him. Anyway, we got there just in time and Milo got two thumbs up on all the little baby benchmarks. He's in the 78% for height (whoa!) and the 56% for weight. His head is small though...he's only in the 26%. Crazy. His head doesn't look small to me. He held his head up really well and then turned over, which prompted the pediatrician to tell him he wasn't supposed to do that for at least another month. Guess he missed the memo. She warned me not to leave him alone on counters or anything (who does that anyway?). The good news is that he's now 12 lbs 7 oz, which means (according to mothering urban legend) he can now SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT.
Guess he missed that memo too.
Well, then it was time for his THREE shots and some kind of oral thingamajig. I honestly don't even know what that one was. The nurse was surprised Milo didn't seem to like the oral medicine because it's sweet and she said most babies love it. But not Milo. He was all cranky pants about it. Guess he didn't inherit mommy's sweet tooth. We can only hope.
Then they made me hold him down for the shots. I felt like such a traitor. The nurse did the first one so fast I wasn't even sure it had happened. And neither was Milo, at first. But then when he realized it, man did he scream his head off. He wailed a heartbreaking wail, all the while pleading with me with his eyes, wondering why I would help this mean lady hurt him.
Awwwwww.
Finally, the nurse said I could pick him up and as soon as I did, he stopped crying. The nurse was astounded, saying that most babies cry a lot longer. My baby is super tough and brave.
More so than his mommy, anyway, since I felt surprisingly undone afterward. This hormone crap is ridiculous.
We made our next appointment and then headed off. Since Milo was now sleepy, I figured I'd cheer myself up with a trip to TJ Maxx, since we all need a few things, and then the grocery store. We got back into the car, and I carefully backed out of the spot, avoiding the pole I was forced to park dangerously close to. I hate parking garages. Once clear of the pole, I turned around to look out the back, making sure to avoid any small children or expensive cars.
At which point I heard a slightly sickening, yet quiet, scraping noise.
Which is when I realized there was a second pole, which had been lurking in my blind spot.
I sat there for a moment, shell shocked, hoping maybe it hadn't really happened. But then I thought, well, it was so quiet, maybe there really isn't any damage.
I was wrong.
Dammit. You know, if Michael had done this, I wouldn't even be upset about it. It's only a car after all. A new car, true, but still just a car. A thing. The first "new car" I've ever owned (or owned one third of) but still. Shit happens. But somehow, since it was me, it felt like a proclamation of my inability to handle pretty much anything these days.
Ironic and sad, because now I will have a whole lot more to handle, what with the insurance and paperwork and phone calls and getting the car in and then not having a car and feeling totally trapped.
Plus, I had to tell Michael. Who doesn't even snack in the car because he wants to take such good care of it.
He was a good sport about it, but I still feel irrationally despondent.
I decided to forgo shopping and just head home. At which point I drew the curtains closed, fed my crankypants peanut, and crawled into bed with him.
He cried softly. His leg hurt, I could tell. I cried less softly. We stared into each other's eyes and I patted his back until his lids got heavy and he made the sleepy turtle face and curled in closer to me.
Sometimes, it feels like my little peanut is the only thing right in the world.
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