Kiki


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Tonight, while the boys were away for Pizza Rocket Day (I think I’ll save the explanation on that for another day), Kiki and I had a little dance-fest. Because who doesn’t love to dance with their favorite baby girl in the whole world? My only problem is that I’m so musically retarded that I have to scrounge from the depths of my adolescent years to come up with anything remotely danceable. I’m utterly ignorant of any and all new and currently popular music, so I’m sorry if these offend the senses, or take you back to 4th grade or anything. There is exactly one person who will be with me on these. You know who you are. And happy birthday last week, I’m so lame. I was gonna call you and I didn’t.

Who doesn’t love some good Chicago? I found a live recording of this song and was shocked at how bad it sucked. Don’t go searching for it, because your ears will bleed. Maybe this next one will be a little better? Wasn’t there a story about how Extreme got made fun of or accused of not being musicians and someone dared them to write a real song, and this was the result?

This next one is from 3rd grade P.E. class. I swear, they put us all in the gym, and this lady in a leotard and leg-warmers came in and made us do aerobics to this song. The visuals are not the traditional, but honestly, who sits around and makes random music videos with Spike in them? I gotta give them some credit for, I dunno, being some kind of weird that I just don’t understand.

And here’s some Jesus rock that maybe you haven’t become familiar with.

My very favorite album to dance to with my kids is The Sharpening Stone, by Kirkmount, a trio of brothers from Utah, but I don’t own it and it seems to be out of print or something, so if you have it, burn it for me. They played at my brother NungNung’s wedding, because everyone in my family has some sort of visceral reaction to their music. Also, the first time Derek ever told me he loved me was just after a Kirkmount concert we went to.

But back to the made-for-TV stuff I loved when I was 12, do you remember this? Do you remember how awesome it was in, what, 1987?

And who wasn’t in love with the Goblin King himself? Come on, you know you were. I even named my goldfish after him.

Turn back, Sarah! Turn back before it’s too late!

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My baby girl is 5 months old. She is a beauty. She is calm, happy, sweet, and giggly. She sleeps when I want her to, which is a lot. She loves me. I sure love her. The other day as I was nursing her, I had this intense, almost overwhelming desire to just give it up. I wanted to be free of the pain and the bondage of nursing. And the damage to my physique.

This is the third child I’ve nursed. Both my boys were still nursing a couple of times a day on their 1st birthday. I had gotten comfortable, the pain had ended, I’d been able to exercise and look more normal. I even got to stop wearing those crappy nursing bras that are so incredibly not flattering, since they would nurse first thing in the morning, and last thing at night. They were both around 8 months old when they made the transition to 2 feedings a day.

So I can hold out for 3 more months. I want to give my little girl everything she needs. I know if I stop now, she will probably not suffer any psychological or physiological damage. I probably won’t either. But I can’t imagine spending huge amounts of money on something I can make for free. And I do love holding her, letting her scratch the fats around my waist with her razor-sharp fingernails, seeing her try to grin and suck at the same time, and watching her fall asleep every single time she eats.

And it’s not like I can reverse the damage done to my poor body. I’ve given my pound of flesh. Or I’ve been given my pound(s) of flesh. Manufacturing a person is exhausting. I’ve come to believe that the process has many built-in fail-safes. To protect the developing organism, the mother is made to feel tired, sick, and in pain. The mother is then less likely to engage in dangerous activity. Or any activity. The child is not self-sufficient when it emerges, so the nearly broken parent has time to heal, while the infant continues to grow. Nursing a baby human who eats every couple of hours keeps that mom from going out into the world too soon or too fast, when she would do almost anything to be able to get back on her feet.

I want to break away, but I feel a responsibility to this little person not to. I also need her dependence on me. I know she won’t need me for long. So really, I’m not ready to quit.

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