On Saturday night Ribh unveiled the Tortured Baby Bird Screech of Epic Proportions of AGONY and woke Hubby and me with a start at 4:23 am. She proceeded to flail, weep, gnash her teeth (what there are of 'em), and thrash about wildly, while steadfastly refusing to either a) go to sleep or b) nurse.
That's right folks: It's a NURSING STRIKE!
A nursing strike is an interesting little "phase" in which babies can no longer stand the declining conditions in their difficult work day and protest by constructing tiny placards which read: NO MORE BOOB UNTIL I GET MY OWN REMOTE CONTROL (and I mean a REAL one dammit!) and SEE HOW YOU LIKE ENGORGEMENT, YOU INCESSANT SNOT WIPER (MY NOSE IS MY OWN BID'NESS), and STOP TRYING TO FEED ME THAT HEALTHY CRAP WOMAN, I SEE YOU EATING FUDGE IN THE PANTRY!
Actually, the babies will METAPHORICALLY construct said placards because frankly, their actions (or inactions boobwise) read louder than words. Ribh indicated quite emphatically at 5:00 am that she was NOT HAPPY and my SHOVING MY BOOB IN HER MOUTH was not helping matters. So, we got up and went to the living room to watched cartoons and HGTV until 8:00 am when everyone else got up.
Last night, the protest continued. This time, it began with a blood curdling screech at 1:27 am which I was able to quell (sans nursing, of course! I might have had ACID MILK for all she was interested) by sleeping propped up against the headboard and pat-patting for 15 minutes. But the moment I shifted positions, she reiterated her position against Mamas Who Suck and Cannot Hold Perfectly Still while Traumatizing Their Spines and followed by reciting her position paper (quite loudly) contending that HER mama particularly sucks and should quit thrusting her acidy boob into her mouth because her teeth hurt and she is sick of wearing hand me down clothes. Then she threw up and blew a giant goob of snot into my hair.
We went to the living room again and continued our negotiations in 30 to 45 minute intervals, during which I would drift off to sleep and would awaken spasmodically as she realized she had forgotten to mention that she wants more Baby Einstein Videos and less Dr. Phil in the afternoon and that she would like to be back inside my uterus where nobody bothered her with demands for sign language communication and patty cake.
Hubby replaced me at the negotiation sofa at 6:40 am when he got up to get The Boy ready for school and he must have managed to bridge the communication gap much better in his negotiotiations, (although I shudder to think what he may have promised her to elicit such a response) because when he brought her to me in bed at 8:00, she relented and nursed and slept for two whole hours without screaming or kicking me in the kidneys even once.
Please pray for a speedy resolution or send a skilled arbitrator. Sleep deprivation is stripping me of even my most rudimentary skills and I am likely to recite from The Aristocrats when I go on my job interview later this week or begin grocery shopping in my underwear. Help!
3 comments:
She is a tough one. In my collective ten years of nursing I only had to endure one 12 hour nursing strike. It was Matt who refused to nurse after I let out a scream after a particularly vicious bite. He was still a little baby and once he woke up in the middle of the night he forgot about the strike and we resumed our usual routine.
Girls are tougher than boys, good luck!!
You mean you don't already shop in just your underwear? Where is your sense of adventure & fun?
oh, goodness. ooof. yikes. ya... I don't even know what to say.... other than may it pass quickly!
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