Some of you know me as a hard-working professor girl, others as a tomboyish adventurer, others yet as a bon vivante. But Baby Fausto knows me as:
- food source
- person whose shoulders are really fun to lick
- Sex in the City addict
I got into a serious
Sex in the City habit shortly after we got out of the hospital. At first I was trying to read while nursing, but my body position and attention span just were not cooperating. Then I tried to find something smart on TiVo, knowing that I was breaking my personal rule about no TV on when the sun is out. And then I stumbled on an episode of
Sex in the City. Turns out that if I skip the commercials, an episode is almost exactly as long as Fausto nurses for. I justified getting the season pass, saying to myself that if I don't get bored while feeding, I won't rush him and then he'll always get his fill. Sounds good, right?
That's what I thought until 2:30 this morning, when all of Mr. Monkey's needs had been met, yet he was still utterly fussy. I gave in, putting him in a sling and wandering off to the TV, where a fresh episode awaited. I started, like I always do, with the opening sequence (I'll admit it, I like the silly theme music) with baby still grumpy, and by the time the episode had started in earnest, Fausto was sound asleep. Had the theme music become his favorite lullabye? Will Manolo be his first word? Maybe he'll start in on solid food and sleeping through the night before long term memory kicks in. We can only hope.
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