Triple dubya dot google dot com

Maybe I’ve said this (583hj4 times) before, but being home with your kids all the time is hard.  Not organic chemistry hard or ridiculously complicated taxes hard or puke-your-lungs-up plank jacks hard, just HARD hard.  (Is it just me or is the word “hard” looking kind of funny now?) I’ve heard all the jokes about needing “the Manual” on kids, but I’m here to tell you that sonofabitch would be as big as a house, because you could not possibly think of all the different kinds of crazy that will come along with those little squirmy buggers.

One of the particularly challenging aspects I’ve been (literally) faced with lately is Rosie’s constant desire for tactile stimulation, otherwise known as Pinchypinchysqueezesqueeze syndrome.  I cannot nurse her without feeling the need for full body armor complete with chain mail and helmet.  She is uncannily good at seeking out skin, taking the minutest amount of it between her fingers, clamping down, and rolling it back and forth and back and forth until there are tears coming out of my eyes and the words of sailors coming out of my mouth.  Favorite spots include my lips, the underside of my arms and the skin, uh, closest to the food source. When I started developing green and brown bruises in little clusters, I knew it was time for action, so I did what any responsible parent would do: I Googled.

There were so many entries for this topic, it amazed me.  Who knew that mothers everywhere were being forced to bite on wooden sticks and employ the serpentine maneuver with their face while trying to feed their babies lunch?  Several of the letters to the various websites I visited could have been written by me, word for word.  There were some solutions suggested: say a firm NO (tried it), give baby a toy to hold (tried it), hold baby’s hand (also tried it), pretend to cry when baby pinches you (WTF?), but my favorite of all was the last suggestion I came across.  Put a sock on it.

And so that is how last night I had the most peaceful nursing session in months, calmly rocking in the glider, defenses down, humming to the bedtime CD as I was gently grazed across the face with a fuzzy baby athletic sock.  It looked like a tiny replica of one of Michael Cera’s legs in Juno was waving in front of my face, except it was Rosie’s hand, daggers and pinchers sheathed beneath pink and white cotton.  Bliss.

So next time you hear that nervous laugh about where’s that dadgum “instruction book” that’s supposed to come with your kids?  You just level that all knowing gaze at them and say “Friend, let me tell you about a little thing called ‘The Internets.'”

It’s all true, you know.

3 comments

1 Elissa { 06.08.09 at 7:19 pm }

O.M.G! Rachel, you just saved my sanity and complexion all in one fell swoop. In fact, I think I just might be in love with you for opening my world up to that FANTASTIC suggestion. I’m pulling out a sock tomorrow morning. Thanks!

2 Amy { 06.08.09 at 7:29 pm }

Brilliant! Now is there an equivalent for this biting phase? Can I just shove a sock in her m-
oh, um, nevermind.

3 Lynn P { 06.09.09 at 7:23 am }

And she’s also getting the tactile stimulation she craves. Win-win

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