All The Things You Never Wanted To Know

You know you're a mom when you stand around talking about how many times you've peed your pants lately.  And those of you moms who don't pee when laughing or doing jumping jacks, I'm gonna go ahead and guess you only had one baby so your precious urethra is still strong a virile, like a teenager's.  Sometimes I wonder why my lover and I don't have as much romance as we used to and then I realize it's because I shout things like, "Oh my god honey, can you bring me some underwear?" and not because I'm being sexy.

Speaking of things that sounds sexy, but turns out is not...

The other night the boys slept from 8:30 until 6:15!!! This never happens, and I was thrilled I got so much sleep, until I realized my boobs were so big and heavy I could barely breathe.  I cannot even explain the pain of having not nursed in 8 hours.  It's like turning on a hose full blast and then plugging the hole with your thumb so it can't come out, and it just backs up in there stretching the hose and making it wish it was dead. It's probably sitting there in the grass composing a goodbye letter to it's hose mom in it's head, like, "Remember when you first taught me to water . . . " and then pleading with the thumb guy to release it and it'll tell him whatever he wants, offering up secrets about the neighbors and who really ate the tomato plant and then finally pleading for him to just end it all and kill him because the pain is too much.  Much like how a lot of college guys tried to explain blue balls to me.

And to that I say - f you sir.  Blue balls is nothing like needing to breastfeed babies.  You know why?  BECAUSE YOU CAN HANDLE BLUE BALLS YOURSELF you lazy b-hole!  I cannot nurse myself no matter how hard I try (and believe me, I did), and I know they make these things called breast pumps, but I don't have one right now so I was stuck there at 6 in the morning dying a slow, painful boob-death.  I considered asking Josh to help me out and then realized there'd be no coming back from that.

So, anyway, I was in serious pain and of course it took a million years to change the babies diapers and I was leaking everywhere, which you think should make things a little less painful, but it doesn't it just triggers another letdown, so now I'm even more engorged, and soaking wet in my own breast milk.  So, the boys are finally all changed and swaddled back up, and Josh leaves to go to the bathroom so I can do my thing and stop crying, and I rip off my shirt and bra to put on dry ones and of course then my boobs start shooting milk out of them like teeny tiny milk rocket sprayers, and it looks like I've decided to hose down the bed and the babies with a fresh coat of mother natures precious bo jango juice, and before I can get a bra or shirt back on, Josh comes out and sees me sitting cross legged on the bed, stretch marked and droopy skin flapping everywhere as I struggle, pretty much totally naked, holding two screaming babies and trying to stop the spray of milk with their heads, hoping at least some of it might make it in their mouths.  He freezes and just stares and  that's the moment I realize - we are really in love.

Because no one, I mean no one, can see you like that, just shrug, and come back to bed and rub your back while you groan with what I can only describe as incredibly painful ecstasy when the boys finally start eating and relieve the explosive pressure.

Best feeling ever.

So, now that you know all of that!  Here's some pictures of what sort of cuteness makes that sort of torture bearable if not downright fun.

My mom made these hats for the boys.  So ridiculously darling! 

Getting some outside use.  That scary bear-owl hybrid was not made by my mom.

The girls have hats too.  

She should really start an etsy store.  Anyone want a hat?  

Close up.

I don't know how I haven't eaten their faces off yet.

So much love.