Breasts, Glorious Breasts

I realized I had sunk to new lows this morning in bed when I sleepily gave Egg permission to take Dumpie downstairs and 'play' while I slept. Jay was showering at the time and yelled out,

"Do you really think it's a good idea to send the boys downstairs unsupervised?!"

Umm. Yes i did think it was a good idea. I would have allowed them to boil an egg on the stove unsupervised if it meant I could snatch a few more minutes of desperately needed sleep.

Before you condemn me, let me explain my current predicament. Dumpie is addicted...addicted to me...well actually he's addicted to my breasts. There, i've said it. Instead of slowly weaning himself OFF the breast, he has done a u-turn and now I find my mammaries in demand 24/7. It's relentless and it's taking over my life.

A typical 24 hours goes like this: bedtime (feed)...middle of the night (feed)...early dawn (feed)....breakfast (feed)...late morning (feed)...lunchtime (feed)....mid-afternoon (feed)...early evening (feed)...dinner (feed)...and then the cycle begins all over again.

Not only are my poor breasts suffering from over-exposure, but all my lovely bra's have been bent out of shape given that i long ago (optimistically) threw out all my nursing bra's and now have to wrangle with straps and bows and wire and elastic constantly - just to feed the hungry little beast.

I had a eureka moment this morning when I surveyed my darling little munchkin who at the time was sat quietly behind me in the bathroom, surrounded by a pile of tampon wrappers, trying to bite the actual tampons in half after having liberated over a dozen of them in the misguided notion that they were sweets. He grinned at me, flashing his 100 watt smile, then glanced down at my chest, stood up and waddled over to me hands outstretched headed for his..well, his bits.

It suddenly dawned that my breasts are HIS. Unlike Egg who formed an early alliance with one particular brown bear early on (and to this day still conducts most of his daily duties with 'Bacon' in tow), Dumpie has never particularly cared for or taken notice of the multitude of inanimate stuffed animals which litter his nursery. Why would he when he has such a superior substitution?

Embarrassingly, he's lately taken to stroking the other breast lovingly whilst nuzzling contentedly, and even if i try and cover his ever-expanding frame with a jumper or shawl, there is still the small problem of his fat chubby wrist protruding up towards my neck - making people wonder whether it's an over attached toddler or perhaps a horny little dwarf (or 'little person' as i believe they like to be called these days) wreaking havoc below.

So you see, I realize now that i'm dealing with more than just the problem of trying to wean an attached baby from his beloved breasts. By cutting Dumps off I shall in effect, be ripping his 'teddy bear' from his arms, tearing it in shreds, and shoving it piece by piece down the toilet as he looks on sobbing and inconsolable. I hardly suspect there is a blanket or bear anywhere in the world which is going to compensate for such a loss. I also suspect that high necklines and loose fitting blouses are going to be the order of the day for the next little while.

It hardly bodes well that I'm off on a beach holiday later this week. That should be interesting.

"VOMITUS DIARRHEA ERUPTUS GRAVITAS"

Vomit vomit everywhere
In carpets, kitchen
and my hair

But that's not all we've also got
Diarrhea
And loads of snot!

It's ruined our sheets and soiled our beds
This non-stop spewing
Makes me wish i were dead

When it comes from both ends you never know
Just when to expect
The next fetid show

Another one's due in moments i fear
As the sick 'Dumpie-lumpagous'
Is moaning quite near

Eggie lies prostrate and whining in pain
Is it possible this virus
Is going to go another round..again?!

Now i must be gone and deal with the pain
And in a few short moments
There will be another stain

No rest for the wicked and by that they mean moms
I've got two sickly boys
With two sickly tums...

(GIANT SIGH).....

Ode to Life In a Barn

Today was fun. Egg awoke and had some horrific diahrea incident which Jay (mumbling) alluded to before positively tearing out the front door with what I can now identify as a relieved expression masking his face. He was wise not to go into detail as I might have been tempted to O.D. on childs 'Calpol' medicine instead of getting out of bed and stomping sickly downstairs to see what chaos ensued in the kitchen containing the two monsters. At the very least I might have gotten a cheap high from the medicine which may in turn have prevented me from nearly losing it when the first (of several it turns out) incident of projectile vomiting kicked off minutes later.

As I sat rubbing Egg's back as he covered not one but two bathrooms in yellow vomit, I was thankful that we don't live in a home with carpeted bathrooms. Naively assuming that it was a one-off eruption, you can imagine my surprise and horror when shortly afterward a half naked Egg somberly whimpered as he stood before me saying,

"Sorry Mama. I made a diahrrea. It was an accident not on purpose. I'm sick Mama."

Sure enough the poor angel was. And so was I by the time I finished cleaning that one up. Who knew that there is actually such a thing as projectile diahrea? Live and learn. I shan't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that there will several more incidents over the next 16 hours...each one even more impressively catastrophic than the last.

I sit here now, baby surgically attached, Egg moaning upstairs in bed, and wondering how sexy i must smell to my husband who is due in any moment. It's almost 11pm and he's been at Bass class across town. This is one of those days that makes me yearn to be an alcoholic. If ever I deserved to swig down several glasses of the hard stuff - today would be it.