Breastfeeding, hormones, and a fussy baby

Porcelain is two months old now, and I still get a fairly heavy dose of oxytocin and prolactin every time I nurse her. I don’t realize it at the time, I just sit there and think, Wow, the world is absolutely beautiful, and my life is absolutely perfect with her in it!

Meanwhile, on Planet Reality, Porcelain is the_fussiest_baby_ever. Never was a baby (of mine) so fussy. The Informant hated everyone equally, but she didn’t scream. Porcelain squawks like an angry chicken when she’s unhappy, which is about 90% of the time

Our interactions are usually like this:

Me: “I love you so much! You are so perfect! I want to lick you!”

Porcelain: “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Me: “You are the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen! I want to bury my face in your tummy so I can smell you! I am going to nurse you until you’re 10!”

Porcelain: “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Me: “Let’s just ignore the older kids and just cuddle in bed all day so I can gaze adoringly at you! Do you know how much I love you? I! Love! You! So! Much! You’re amazing!”

Porcelain: “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Me: “Remember how I told everyone that even though you were my smallest full-term baby, and you were two weeks past my estimated due date, I thought you broke my pelvis in half when you were coming out?– I don’t even care! I don’t even care that I think you broke my pelvis! I love you that much! You are totally worth a broken pelvis! That’s how fabulous you are, my love! I would endure the pain of a pseudo-broken pelvis for you any day! Would you like to break it again so I can show you?”

Porcelain: “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Yes, here I am, nearly 32 years old, engaging in a dysfunctional high school romance with my baby.


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