happy bastille day, you frenchies.
There's also surely a gay-rights subtext: people talk about the mutants being the same as humans but outcasts in society, politicians specifically decry the thought of mutants "teaching our children," and, well, Ian McKellen.
One year ago: I read some mystery novels.
Two years ago: I go nuts on The Last Action Hero.
Three years ago: We compare all TV to Oz. All TV comes up lacking.
Four years ago: I do some critical thinking about reading.
Every four days, like clockwork.
So, yesterday I downloaded the trailer to Unbreakable, the new M. Night Shyamalan movie starring Bruce Willis. Darin and I watched in on my Powerbook. The trailer looks really good. I was very impressed by The Sixth Sense, so M. Night Shyamalan gets a big ol' good-until-proved-otherwise mark.
And it's Bruce Willis, who I definitely like -- you never know what you're going to get with Willis. Well, actually, you can know, if you pay attention to his hairline. There is an inverse proportion between the amount of hair Willis sports and the quality of the movie. It's like if he doesn't have his toupee, he actually has to act or something.
DIANE watches the trailer intently.
DIANE
Oh no! Now we HAVE to go see this!
DARIN
Why?
DIANE
Look! Bruce Willis has no
hair! That means it's going to
be an excellent movie!
DARIN
It's the Citizen Kane of
Bruce Willis movies!
The phrase "the Citizen Kane of" comes from the one-line review of Shakes The Clown (a seriously disturbed yet funny piece of filmmaking): "It's the Citizen Kane of alcoholic clown movies." Where we saw that, I have no idea.
My current troubles involve milk. Specifically, my milk. More specifically, there isn't as much of it as there once was and this is causing me just a wee bit of consternation.
For the first few months, I made ridiculous quantities of milk. I knew Sophia's nursing schedule intimately because if she didn't eat on cue, I would be in pain. When things got seriously out of hand, I would pump and get 6 or 7 ounces, no problem.
A few weeks ago I read on my moms mailing list a cure for "hyperlactation" and undertook it -- use only one breast for nursing in any two hour period, to ensure that the breast gets drained.
This has worked way too well, because now that I want to start building up a supply in the refrigerator and freezer in case I am out of the house when Sophia gets hungry, I am finding I am producing barely any milk at all when I pump. I pumped in June -- 6 ounces. Two weeks ago -- 3 ounces. Barely.
So now I have to go back and check out all the advice that I skipped over in the breastfeeding books and on the moms list about how to make more milk.
- I'm taking two capsules of fenugreek, three times a day. Fenugreek is an herb that's used to flavor artifical maple syrup, so now I smell a bit like maple syrup.
- I'm drinking even more water than I usually do.
- I've gone back to switching between breasts for every feeding. Sometimes I even use both breasts during one feeding to stimulate more production. something I haven't done since she was a week old. (Binky the lactation consultant told me to stop doing that, since I was so engorged anyhow.)
- And there's the big one: pumping after every feeding, which is both a)painful and b)difficult to arrange -- what do I do with Sophia? I can't hold her during pumping.
It's painful because there's only so much suction you can apply to extremely sensitive skin of the nipples before you start to say, "Ow." I have one of the pumps that allows you to regulate the pressure (the Medela Pump In Style), and it still hurts. Add to that my little sucky baby, and I'm beginning to feel a little ravaged again.
I realize that this borders on the verge of a pornographic conversation, but what can I say? We've sexualized breasts to quite a degree in this country, which means that talking about feeding my baby makes me blush -- but increases hit counts to my page by teenaged boys.
Darin and I also been having trouble getting Sophia to take a bottle. (Karen and Par: give your baby a bottle every week, whether you're there or not! The whole thing about babies refusing bottles is true.) I've finally decided that we're going to do this the tough way: when the nanny is here, Sophia gets a bottle, whether I'm in the house or not. It's going to kill me. I have to do it.
Darin had Sophia-tending hell on Wednesday night. I had a great time at class; he was with the Satanic baby. For the first hour and a half, she was evidently great -- smiling, laughing, and, most importantly, sleeping. Then she woke up and started crying, and the crying turned to screaming, and the screaming just kept on going. I came home, dropped all of my stuff inside the door, grabbed her, and nursed her to calm her down. Knowing she's going nuts is not conducive to my having peace of mind when I'm out of the house.
So, the good news is, Dora got Sophia to take a bottle today.
The bad news is, Sophia stopped taking a bottle the second she saw me. (I, of course, had gone running in to take a look when I heard it was going well.) I see what the next week or so is going to be like: I leave Sophia with Dora when she's hungry, and I let Dora suffer the slings and arrows of getting Sophia to take a bottle.
I'm trying to be philosophical and realize that this really is good for her (and for me): other people can take care of her, like her father, and everything will be okay. And Darin and I need to get out together once in a while, to have a date every so often. Having a baby takes a hell of a toll on your relationship, because you no longer have alone time. And no, I don't mean just sex (though there is that...or lack of that). It's hard not to talk about the baby when it's just the two of you there, and it's important to keep having adult conversations about other topics.
The answer to Monday's question: Vicente Fox is the new President of Mexico and is the first President of Mexico to be of a party other than the PRI since 1929. Mr. Fox was once the chief executive officer of Coca-Cola in Mexico. I don't know what this means for Mexican democracy, but Mexican dentists are ecstatic.
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Copyright 2000 Diane Patterson
Send comments and questions to diane@nobody-knows-anything.com