“There is No Safe Haven Like Being at Mother’s Breast”
[admin / November 30th, 2010 / Young Bright Things ]
Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy: One month into writing POP ULCER, I have been diagnosed with my first stomach ulcer. Thanks to TUMS and Prevacid, my stomach feels a little less like a voodoo doll. I Â have no appetite. If I can milk this liquid diet, maybe I can finally fit into the clearanced Lady Gaga post-Halloween costume my friend bought me from Wal-Mart. I was too thick to wear it to her baby shower.
My friend is scheduled for a cesarean December 17th— her first baby, and at 22 years old, that’s not bad. I’ve warmed up to the best friend with a baby situation, as long as I hold it while in a seated position. I have nightmares about dropping newborns onto linoleum floors. Their skulls break open like eggs that leak giant yolks. Soft spots are not endearing. I feel as though my finger is going to puncture a soft spot like a rotten apple. I am not the person to call after a positive pregnancy test. Whenever someone tells me she’s pregnant, I assume it’s bad news. I forget some women look forward to birthing.  My friend will not breastfeed. She plans to pump, but the thought of her baby girl suckling her nipples makes her nauseous. I understand. I must say though, I was a formula kid, and there is still a disconnect between my mother and me.
My mom blossomed in the ’80s in a Whitesnake tank top and a white leather jacket with fringe. And I’m fairly sure I was conceived in the bed of a moving truck to the crooning of Mötley Crüe. Her BFF revealed this when I was 13. Mom still listens to hair bands, drives cross country to Oklahoma for the annual Rocklahoma Fest. She met a man there who smoked medicinal marijuana and let her piss in his Winnebago. I grew up in Nag Champa incense and the sound of bitches pounding pianos: Tori Amos, Fiona Apple. I loved the music of women who would have been burned as witches. We try to understand one another— my mother and I. Perhaps we’d be closer if I had been breastfed.
This lady nurses quite an intimate connection with her 8-year-old daughter whom she still nurses. Her daughter says that she’d rather “have lots of breast milk than a million melons.” She’s even lovingly named them Boobial and Milkeor.  I’ve obviously missed out. As this mother says: “There is no safe haven like being at mother’s breast.”Â
You crack me up!! Unfortunately for Gia she will not have the pleasure of naming by tits hahaha! That video creeps me!! (Muah love)
Shipley news is no bueno. This team could’ve done good things this year at full strength. Annoying. We’ve had some atrocious luck since the ’09 Championship game…