Multitasking

  • opened a Go-Gurt for Maddie (most difficult thing, EVER)
  • ate breakfast, lunch and dinner
  • fell asleep
  • put on a full face of makeup (no simple task)
  • made a shopping list
  • talked on the phone
  • had an argument
  • read a book
  • colored with Maddie
  • fixed her hair
  • Tweeted
  • picked up a spilled glass of water off the ground and set it on the coffee table using only my feet
  • answered the door
  • typed out this post

These things have all been accomplished while nursing Jack.

I kind of feel like Kramer in that one episode of Seinfeld, where he installs a garbage disposal in his shower so he could prepare food in there and waste less time. Every time I pick up a magazine to read or start eating a bowl of cereal while Jack is stuck on there, I can’t help but think of Kramer rinsing the lettuce.

Sometimes you just have to get creative with your time saving techniques!

More About Chesticles

A follow up to this drama-filled post I wrote back in January.

A note to the people on Facebook who pop on over here every once in a while, but don’t necessarily care to read about the status of my working boobs: Skip this one.

Once upon a time, I had a perfect pair. They were perky, full of life, and looked flipping amazing in every top I owned with little to no effort. You all know the whole bend-over-tuck-in-wiggle-push-up bit, right?  I NEVER HAD TO DO THAT. They were that cute.

Then along came this…

mrspriss_6 months pregnant_baby belly

…and with my transformation into that behemoth of a woman, my boobs became beastly. Gargantuan. Terrifying… yet, still strangely awesome in their own huge way.

THEN:

mrspriss_newborn_maddie_post partum

The arrival of Maddie brought them to incredible new lactating heights. And weights (probably about 5lbs each at this point, if I had to guess). That one you see there rivaled the size of my newborn.

I nursed Madeline for three months before I gave up (pumping at work became my own personal hell), and the downward spiral began. My boobs became a young 23 year old woman’s worst nightmare — small, saggy, lifeless and anything but cute.  My bra size seemed to decrease weekly, which was utterly depressing.  That wouldn’t have even be so bad if they would have just FIT into a bra without trying to wiggle out and say hi to everyone constantly.

Enter Summer, 2009. I lost all the baby weight! I was supposed to be able to wear tank tops and sun dresses and have hot, new mom cleavage!  Sorry, sister, not happening this year.

Quite frankly, I was pissed at life.  I know, I’m seeming a bit dramatic… but for someone who’s had her share of body-hating issues, seeing the one area I never had a problem with turn to complete crap was a little tough.

(Bipolar activity incoming…) Not all was lost though, miraculously! A month or two ago, I started noticing a positive change. I had a mom friend tell me this would happen, but I didn’t really believe her until it did.  They were actually starting to behave like good little girls. They weren’t flopping all over the place like they used to, and I could actually stand to look at them for more than two seconds without wanting to gouge my eyes out. They’re still far from what they used to be, but the good old 34C’s are back. That’s progress.

So here’s another bit of newish mom wisdom I’ve gained in a nutshell: They get big, they get bigger, they get HUGE and terrifying, then they look like crap for a while… but none of it lasts forever. They’ll be sort of cute again one day.

Waste Not…

The other night I was rummaging through my nightstand in search of some lotion. See, this is one of my weird rituals. I absolutely can’t go to sleep until I put lotion on my elbows and feet.

Anyway, for the life of me I could NOT find my lotion. I was already in bed with the lights off and I didn’t want to get back up again, so I did what any other thinking person would do it my situation…

lansinoh… slathered on some of the old leftover nipple cream from when I was nursing that I found in the drawer.

Call me lazy, gross, disturbed, whatever… but I am a flipping resourceful genius. I woke up the next morning with some of the smoothest heels and elbows EVER.  And the best part? If your baby decides they want to suck on your foot for whatever reason, it’s completely safe for them to do so.

I know. Awesome.