Great Exbeertations. A Classic Tale by Charles Dickens.

Let’s take a break from stress and disappointment and butt issues. Instead, let’s focus on something happy and wonderful and fulfilling and oh screw it, I can drink again.

 

This is how my heart feels.

 

I’ve stuck to beer since I unpregnanted. I’m waiting until I can dump August on some poor, unsuspecting parent of some other kid for a night when he is nine or something before I return to one of my personal favorites, a $7 bottle of champagne, poured into some kind of ridiculous vessel.

 

An old standard.

 

I didn’t have my first beer until I was a little over three weeks postpartum. Nothing in my life has ever tasted so much like happiness and a nap.

 

Just look at that beautiful bitch.

 

I am still sort of breastfeeding. August is back to refusing my breast, and hasn’t taken it in a while. So, I try to pump about three times a day, and give him what I can in a bottle. This has inhibited my ability to booze a little bit. Probably as much as becoming a mother and having to take care of an infant would. When I was still breastfeeding, after I had a drink, I would normally “pump and dump” so August is only ever milk-wasted. Never wasted-wasted. Not until he is 12 like a normal person.

 

This is me, drunk-dialing as a baby. I won’t let August make my mistakes.

 

Now, being that I have so little breast milk to offer him, the last thing I wanna do is get Irish boobs right before a pump and have to pour it down the drain. So, I save the keg stands for the end of the night, after my final pump. I can sleep off my buzz and my milk is just plain ol’ milk by the time I wake up in the morning and pump again. Also, by the time I would have a drink, August is already fast asleep. I feel better when I remove the possibility of waking up the next morning with my baby in a dog crate and Beatrix in the crib.

 

And before anyone jumps all over my balls about me being drunk all the time and putting my son’s diaper on his head and stuff, cool your jets. Adam brought me home a six-pack the week we got home from the hospital. I just finished it last week, and he had two of them. I only drank half a beer one night, because just smelling beer gets me buzzed after going nine months without so much as a decent Robotrip. Give me some credit.

 

That all being said, I am highly anticipating some day in the distant future when Adam and I take a trip somewhere without our baby for the first time, and I end the night with a lampshade on my head.

 

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2 thoughts on “Great Exbeertations. A Classic Tale by Charles Dickens.

  1. No need to pump and dump unless you need to ungorge yourself (ew – what a word.) Just wait enough time for it to clear your milk like you would your blood – I heard 2 hours per drink, but I guess it’s all really a crap shoot. I have one glass of wine occasionally after the baby is in bed. She’s not waking for a feeding until about 5-6 hours later now (and she gets mostly formula anyway, so I could skip the boob if I had to.) It is glorious. When I was preggo, I fantasized about the nice bottle of champagne that’s been in our fridge since we got married. I swore I was going to pop it after I popped, but that idea was forgotten in all that birthing business. I still haven’t had any, but my birthday is coming up… (By the way, my mom didn’t breastfeed me, but they did let me drink beer straight from their cans. Talk about klassy…)

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