Summer Evening

Tonight, Sage and Thyme steadfastly refused to nurse, forcing me to pump in order to relieve the pain. They deemed the sight of me pumping insufficiently entertaining, though, and finally--and reluctantly--deigned to stop crying once I settled on precisely the right combination of rocking their bouncy seats with my feet (for those not in the know, a breast pump requires that you clutch the pump to your breasts with your hands, thereby ensuring that the time you spend pumping is as boring and inefficient as possible), and making up new and entertaining lyrics to "The Wheels on the Bus" (the bus in question is now occupied by Daddy, Joan Rivers, Nana, and several stuffed puppies).

When I finished pumping, Sage started to cry and refused to stop until I gave him the bottle earmarked for his brother. Then, he promptly fell asleep, providing an opening for Thyme to chime in. Chime in he did--splendidly. (This was also the moment at which Sage turned his head to The Bad Side That We Are Supposed to Discourage So His Head Doesn't Get Any Flatter, and the point at which I realized that I finally had an opening to clip Sage's surfboard-like nails, and I couldn't exploit it, because his brother was fussing.) Thyme refused food and comfort, preferring instead to stare in awe at the closed Venetian blinds while perched in an awkward pose in my arms that required me to contort my back. This lasted for roughly eight minutes before he began howling (although my stomach had been howling for at least 45 minutes). Once the howling commenced, we alternated the breast and two kinds of bottles until he decided what he wanted. He finally settled on expressed breast milk, and I seized the opportunity to shove a miniature Nestle's Crunch bar in my mouth.

Daddy will soon be home from his after-work drink with his colleagues.

Guess who will be making dinner tonight.