sometime i feel like a...

...cow. there, i said it. no, not the reference to the weight, although that certainly hasn't come off after my chicka was born as fast as i would have liked it [especially since as i'm writing this my mouth is watering at the thought of the last serving of baby ruth ice cream in the freezer]. i mean my milk production. after i write this i will unwillingly but faithfully go upstairs and sit at the mercy of my medela and let it do its magic. chicka needs milk for cereal tomorrow... and the day after... and the day after.

i imagine myself all lined up in a dairy farm next to the other lady cows, chewing our cud [or that baby ruth ice cream]. being hooked up to the machine so my milk can be expelled and used. i've heard that if you don't milk a dairy cow their utters began to hurt. been there. i remember when i came home from the hospital still drugged because of my c-section pain and my mom giving me a pillow to hold against my rock hard boulders that had replaced my barely "b"s. after fours days in the hospital, the day we left was the day my milk had FINALLY decided to come in. wowsers. i can't remember which one hurt worse, incision or utters. crying from tata pain, crying from the gaping hole in my abdomen, crying because chicka was no longer inside of me and i would never feel those special movements, and crying from joy. worst.experience.ever. but i had successfully carried my chicka full term [despite the complications and bed rest] and she was beautiful and healthy. all worth it.

i love you chicka, i really do. baby ruth [ice cream]... i love you too.

chicka chicka boom boom, i'll write again real soon...