Thursday, March 20, 2008

Yes, let's converse further about my mammary glands!

Ok, so seriously? There is a rash of awful news going around. Cancer, dead cats, disease, layoffs, deployment to war zones, non-improving medical conditions, the list goes on. Careful out there, catastrophic life events seem to be catching. I'm doubling up on my vitamin C just in case. You might consider doing the same.

Every day I have at least one awkward conversation revolving around lactation. I think people at my office are just not busy enough. And the weird part, it's all men who talk to me about it. I'm perfectly content to just wash out my pumping supplies in silence. But no. Every day, some creepy guy or another is peering over my shoulder to see what it is I'm doing at the sink, then feels the need to comment. "I remember those from when my wife was breastfeeding!" Good for you. Now fuck off.
Or the really weird guy, "Do you always wash those out in the kitchen?" Umm, since my office lacks a sink, yes. Yes I do. Are they just making conversation? Because this? This is not the makings of idle conversation. It's awkward, and on the verge of harassment. Go ahead, ask me about my breast health some more!

Everyone I talk to asks me what we're doing with Warren for Easter. When I answer, "Um, nothing," everyone's a little taken aback. My rationale for not doing shit on the holidays for Warren: He's a baby. He does not care, and I don't really follow the christian faith as it is. So, like every year, I will be waiting until Monday, then buying all the half-priced Easter candy I can get my hands on. People were equally horrified when I mentioned that we didn't buy Warren any Christmas presents either. DUDE! He was like, 5 days old. His gift? He gets to live.
I'm really not motivated to do anything festive for a baby who has no concept of what is going on. Maybe when the kid's like, three and has some idea of what a holiday is, maybe I'll suddenly give a shit about doing all the cutesy stuff. I think my kid is pretty dang cute, but I have no desire to make/buy special outfits, or have his picture taken with a big, creepy Easter bunny at the mall, or put an easter basket together for him. And no, I don't think that makes me a negligent mom. But from the looks of shock and dismay I receive, clearly, I'm wrong.

Parents are weird.

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