As I was just telling my mother, I am not myself today. I think it’s because I made one of my boobs angry.
I guess it’s easier to do than I realized, while breastfeeding full-time. I was just trying to be consistent and make sure I keep the supply even on both sides… I realized I’d done the right side twice, so I wanted to make sure I did the same with the left (they do have names, BTW, but I’m not sure I’m ready to share them on the Interwebs). Of course, this happened to be during the night, when I tend to lie on my front/side. So my right breast got all offended and rock-hard and started hurting like the dickens.
I think that must have been the reason that at the 3 a.m. feed, I realized I was freezing cold, and couldn’t get warm or stop shivering even when I finally made myself get up to put on warmer clothes and another blanket (#4, plus flannel sheets). Apparently all the heat in my body was focused into the seething ache of Mammary the Right. I don’t remember ever getting feverish from breast engorgement before – not even when both of them were filled with milk and there was no Sebastian to feed it to.
Basically, I did not sleep well, or much. By morning, I was dizzy and sore all over. If I seem kinda punchy, that’s why.
Thank God my Hubbibi was here today – he changed Baby A’s poopy bum, and ensured that I could sleep uninterrupted for a couple hours. It made a huge difference. He’ll be starting a new job very soon; I just got lucky that he’s still home right now.
In spite of all this, I’m still very grateful for my magic milk jugs. Even if one is getting grumpy in her, uh, middle age. They are still amazing assets.
On a totally different topic, Sean and I were talking last night at dinner about 80s commercials, and which ones stick in our minds. It’s weird how those things learned in childhood don’t go away. I remember this Pringles ad so well that sometimes, the jingle gets stuck in my head, apparently out of nowhere.
OMG, classic. The hair, the colours, the over-exuberance, the incredibly cheesy script. It’s all there. (One of the girls in this commercial is from our hometown – we went to high school with her. One of my many claims to fame.)
Then there’s the Caramilk Secret.
This particular “Hacker” ad was running at a time in my life when I couldn’t imagine being ever HALF as cool as this girlfriend. She teases her boyfriend and rolls her eyes with utmost confidence; she’s got great hair and wicked hoop earrings and an awesome jean jacket; it’s like she knows how this is all gonna go down, but she’s too cool to worry about it. (Plus, her teeth are perfect. In 1988, when I was ten years old with a very overcrowded smile that I tried never to have captured on film, having pretty teeth was one of my most cherished goals.)
Finally, I have to include Smarties. American readers, you may or may not have an idea of what real Smarties are, but I can tell you, these are the ones. They are not just little round candy-coated chocolate buttons; no. They are FORMATIVE CANDY. For years, Canadian kids have used them for many cool activities – not just eating them, but creating artful rainbow mosaics on the table, licking the outside and painting their faces with the colours, and carefully sucking the colour off so you can see that they’re all actually white underneath… and brown underneath that – profound stuff, people! (And did you know? In recent years, the colours look different because they’ve been replaced with natural dyes.)
This jingle is no less influential. If you knew the words as a kid, you still know them now. They entrench themselves like scripture, creating the perfect blend of peer pressure, rebelliousness, and cachet. Although I didn’t actually remember these images, watching them was like recalling a recurring dream: every shot was viscerally familiar.
When I was really little, we only watched TVOntario, which was commercial-free. Even after that, commercials were basically always put on mute in our house, so I really don’t know how these ones got so ingrained. I barely remember any TV ads from the 90s or after. I guess my files were already full – and, it seems, un-deletable. Maybe that’s why I’m not good at remembering important historical dates and national capitals – too much inane 80s fun taking up space in my brain.
And honestly, who’s to say which information is more important?