Ben’s first trip to the zoo was last Wednesday. While he predominantly seemed completely uninterested in anything other than sleeping in his stroller, in the Moby or eating, it was fun. There’s very little more…

loud than my screaming child in the next room. This will be finished later.

Were the world sane all the people I’ve met with over the past two days would be a realistic snapshot of how the entire population would view breastfeeding. Every single one was excited that I’ve been trying my hardest to breastfeed. Not one of them minded me whipping out a boob (discreetly) in their office or in the cafeteria. The only semi-negative comment I got was regarding how long I would like to breastfeed.
“Three years? That’s a looooong time…Well, it’s a long way away. We’ll talk abut it when we get closer to it…”

But even that was countered by an amazing woman who said, “I breastfed my son until he was 2 and a half. He weaned himself.”

If only everyone was that positive about breastfeeding, I wouldn’t need to spend 30 minutes at the back of a parking lot feeding my son before we go in anywhere.

We found out today that Ben’s 23.25 inches long and 10lbs 6oz – This means he’s in the 6th percentile for weight and 25th percentile for height. I was told, “He’s just tall and skinny like his dad.” Of course, I’m still worried but I’m trying not to be.

I also tried Lactaid for the first time (Yummeh!!!) and am really hoping Ben doesn’t get gas from it so I can start eating cereal again. If he’s lactose intolerant, he should be fine. However, if has a dairy allergy, it’ll probably still send raucous gas shooting out of his butt.

On that note, one or two of my entries may be password protected soon. I’d like to talk about things that are very personal and somewhat controversial, but am afraid it may cause some unneeded problems. It’s ridiculous that I’m even questioning being completely straightforward, but I’d rather avoid any negativity. These things are hard enough for me to discuss without the stress of worrying about how it makes others feel about me. Should they become protected, you’ll only need email me for the password.

He was angry at the bees hanging from this toy, for some reason. He yelled GAGHAAAA at them everytime he grabbed them. The butterflies got a more gentle, “Gahummm.”

I can’t say enough how much I love this Bumbo(Bimbo) and, now, this catepillar. I actually had time to pee. ENOUGH TIME TO PEE! And I took full advantage of it. I sat instead of hovered. I leisurely waited for the water to get warm and then actually dried my hands off. You didn’t hear me right, I DRIED MY HANDS…ENTIRELY! I stretched, I sang to the birdies out the window, I…okay, I just peed and washed my hands but my God, was it amazing.

I hate this yeast. I hate it with every fiber of my being.

Yesterday, we went to my midwife to see about the raging boob yeast. “I’m not entirely sure that is yeast…” she said. See, she said that because I have taken it upon myself to wash the evil bumps with Dial soap. Yes, Dial soap. It’s no longer as bumpy, but it looks like someone took a cheese grater to it. I was, desperate, see? It had to go away, and Dial kills 99.9% of…well, everything. I figured, what the hell? Might kill of the yeast, too.

It didn’t. Just my skin. Now I’m not so bumpy but raw, ragged and itchy. I am an idiot.

She prescribed me a 3 month treatment of Diflucan. THREE MONTHS. Because, apparently, my yeast is evil.

Ben’s pediatrician prescribed him more Nystatin because the Miconazole was not working. If it doesn’t go away in yet another two weeks, he’s to go in and see them. However, after one treatment of Nystatin last night, he’s much less red and there are nearly no more bumps left. I think we’re finally in the home stretch with his demonic yeast.

Now, I’m going to go boil my nipples.

Thanks to Ben’s grandma and great-grandma, Ben got himself a whole load of toys yesterday, including what his grandma called a “Bimbo” followed by “Bumble”, “Bumbi”, and “Buggle”. He loves it no matter what it’s called.