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Saturday, June 04, 2005

more on milk



behold the bottle! see it? that thing on the left? it's where i keep my semen. you knew mr nice guy was virile, but you had no idea he was THAT virile, did you? actually, i am joking. that's breastmilk -- i keep my semen in the milk carton on the right.

so where was i? oh yes, beholding the bottle. behold it! are you beholding the bottle? good. that thing is filled with stuff that came out of my wife! she was pumped like a holstein the other night. when i got home from work, she showed me the bottle in the fridge, handed me my daughter and said "i'm going to sleep. feed her. if you wake me up and it's not an emergency -- if she's not bleeding out of her eyes -- you die, bitch."

so mrs nice guy went to bed, leaving me with a tiny sleeping baby ... a ticking time bomb. the child was going to wake up at any minute and demand sweet, sweet breastmilk only to find her old man and a bottle. a recipe for disaster if ever there was one.

but! the baby slept. and slept and she slept a little more. it was great. i sat on the couch sipping cognac and reading rabelais in the original middle french, writing marginalia on the author's scathing satirical attacks on scholasticism. my baby honked like a goose in her bassinet. after about three hours, just as i was fine-tuning the impenetrable thrust of my new rabelaisian theory (mmm, pantagruel), the child was undoubtedly ready to be fed. i know she was ready to be fed because she scrunched her entire body into a tiny ball -- much in the manner that a pill bug does -- and began screaming in her sleep -- much in the manner that a pill bug does not. so i grabbed the bottle out of the fridge, popped it into the bottle warmer and, to keep the child from waking her poor mother, i stuck a ball-gag my pinkie in her mouth.


the bottle heated for what seemed like four score and seven fucking years as my child turned alarming shades of red and steam poured forth from her fontanel. FINALLY the bottle was hot. too hot. had to let it cool. christ! baby was about to explode from the rage. i would have had to explain to my wife why i was cleaning baby parts off the kitchen cabinets when she woke up. was not looking forward to that.

finally i squirted the milk on my wrist like i've seen them do in the movies and it definitely felt like milk. so i jammed the bottle into the kid's mouth. this is a child, mind you, who HATES pacifiers. she will only suck on nipples or fingers. that's it. i have been dreading this moment for days. i was going to have to attempt to bottle feed my daughter, a task akin, i was sure, to persuading angelina jolie to stop calling me (angie, baby, it's over. deal with it).

but i was wrong! i jammed that rubber nipple into her mouth and she began sucking and gulping with astonishing ferocity. (let us revisit that last sentence and take it totally out of context, shall we? let's say your phone rings one night after midnight; you pick it up and a breathy voice says to you "i jammed that rubber nipple into her mouth and she began sucking and gulping with astonishing ferocity." you'd think that was a little creepy, right? aren't you glad i'm not at all creepy?). anyway, the point is ... she took the bottle! she loved the bottle! she sucked down 4 ounces of milk like it was NOTHING! aww, yeah. that's my girl. then she let rip the biggest burp this side of tupperware. i was so proud. so happy. her tiny body lay curled in her father's arms, rhythmically pulsing with every tiny swallow. so precious. my heart broke a little.

until, that is, i realized the horrible truth of the matter ... now that mrs nice guy does not have to be physically present at every feeding, i will never be allowed to sleep again. and not sleeping does very strange things to mr. nice guy's perspicacity. for example, at one point last night he was dangerously tempted to take a hearty swig of the boob juice. but, alas, his daughter finished it all with a quickness. (and then she grunted and took a huge dump. i am just endlessly enthralled by merely watching her drop a big load in her pants -- the tongue comes out, she grrrrunts loudly, the eyes roll back, she smacks her lips. i can stare at her doing this for hours. i can't wait till she's 14 so i can tell her about the awesome faces and sounds she used to make whilst voiding her bowels. she will thank me for it.) in short, i was unable to sample the goods.

so then, stay tuned as, in the next day or two, i plan to live blog a TASTING OF THE BREASTMILK.

7 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Aren't you just such a lucky dad, isn't she just such a good little nice-guy baby. Keep that pacifier handy, you'll never know what she'll do next.

6/04/2005 6:14 PM  
Blogger Moo Moo said...

Wow. The thought that went into that commentary. I am very impressed and have no idea about the rabel thing you were talking about. But good job daddy nice guy! We are proud of you.

6/04/2005 8:23 PM  
Blogger Lesley said...

Mmmmmm, mammary secretions. I'm told the taste is very bland, except, that is, if your wife's just eaten a vindaloo curry.

6/05/2005 4:59 AM  
Anonymous milkmaid said...

Words of advice to mr. nice guy: do not, I repeat, DO NOT waste one infinitismally tiny drop of the "liquid gold" that mrs. nice guy pumps. You will fear no wrath worse than that of mrs. nice guy when she discovers you heated too much of the moo juice and left the dregs of the bottle to spoil. Think of what it takes physiologically (she's being milked by a machine), physically (she's sitting there idle thinking of all the things she could be getting done at that moment), and psychotically (her current purpose and bane of existence is only as a milk production unit). Then think of all the thoughts of spousal abuse and torture that could go through her mind if she were to encounter a spoiled full or partially full bottle left in the sink/in the nursery/car overnight/stroller pocket/diaper bag. If the day should ever arise, all I can say is God Help You, Man.

6/05/2005 4:05 PM  
Blogger Catharine said...

Ohh... let's not live blog a tasting of the breastmilk, shall we? I mean, let's just all agree that breastmilk was a fabulous thing in its time, but we're all a little old for that sort of thing now.... Besides, it doesn't set well with the authorities when you take the breastmilk out of your daughter's mouth (metaphorically speaking) in order to conduct scientific experiments on it.

I'm glad you got to feed her. You may never sleep, but you'll have those precious moments where its just you and her... together... at three o'clock in the morning.... :)

~C~

6/05/2005 5:32 PM  
Blogger Candace said...

It tastes a little sweet, but bland.

But go for it, if you must.

6/05/2005 10:52 PM  
Blogger LadyBug said...

I don't seem to remember how I found my way to your blog, but I started reading and didn't stop until I got to the end of the page. You're very funny.

This post cracked me up. I've breastfed all three of my kids. (Still nursing my youngest, who turned one just this week.) I don't think there's anything wrong with tasting the breastmilk (loved the live blog, btw). It's just milk, after all. Humans were drinking breastmilk long before they were drinking uddermilk.

Congratulations to you and Mrs. Nice Guy on the birth of your little girl.

God bless,
LadyBug

6/17/2005 2:27 PM  

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