Lessons from Mommyland

Things I have learned in my first eleven days of parenthood:

• As a breastfeeding mother, I've learned that one of my boobs is retarded. No, really. Ol' Lefty just can't keep up with her asymetrically talented sister on the right. This is evidenced by both quantitative evidence (when I pump the tanks out, I get almost twice as much milk out of the right boob), and qualitative evidence (due to lack of milk production, Ella sucks harder on the left boob -- and besides the soreness from the extra suction, I'm also convinced my daughter has five rows of razor-sharp teeth hidden in her mouth, which only come out when she is suckling).

• My daughter knows exactly what she's doing when she poops. She especially likes to poop while she's feeding, and she will actually stop suckling as you feel every little muscle in her tiny little body force out an ungodly, unnatural amount of poop. I really don't know how she keeps so much poop in her body, or how it got there, but it comes out frequently and with FEELING. And there are seedy things in it. Where she's getting seeds, I don't know. I'm starting to wonder if A. feeds her seeds. Like how he feeds Bodhi peanuts, even though he claims he doesn't do that, either. But again... the evidence is in the poop.
  

• Sleep? At night? HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Baby E will sleep through the majority of the day as peacefully and calmly as the Christ child. Not a single peep out of her, even when she's awake. Guests visit and comment on what a good baby she is. But I think something happens at night where my child is replaced with a screaming, roaring banshee beast, because as soon as there is even the slightest evidence of A. and I getting into bed, it is instantly SHOWTIME. At this point, she is inconsolable. No clean diaper, full boob, heartfelt rocking or firm burping will calm her. But again, mind you, this does not begin until the exact second that my head hits a pillow.

• Correction. The aforementioned phenomenon also occurs as soon as the microwave goes off, signaling that I may have a chance at a warm meal. No sleep or warm food for the reproductively-capable.

• There are often jokes about little boy babies peeing on their parents during diaper changes. Someone failed to tell me that little girl babies, and their tiny little urethras, have impeccable aim as well.

The ultimate lesson I've learned thus far? I still have way, way more to learn. That's okay. That's what Google is for.