All The Single Ukers

Oh Interwebz, I mean to post more.  I miss you sumtin’ fierce.  It’s just not going very well.

I’ve been working on a letter to earlier me for the past week or two.  The letter was supposed to be all, “Don’t fret Elly, it’s going to get easier, if you’re going to clean the oven it should be so you don’t set off the smoke detector every time you make a frozen pizza, not so it’ll be more comfortable when you put your head in there.”  But see, every time it seems like it might in fact BE getting easier, the shit hits the fan.

Sadly, that’s not a figurative statement.  I’ve since moved said fan.

The two month visit at the pediatrician shows Paul to be in the 90th percentile for height and only the 50th for weight.  Which, unless you’re Kate Moss, seems to be a bad thing.  Nothing like a little empirical evidence confirming you suck at something, eh?

Oh…there’s apparently a word for Paul’s recent mood change – colic.

No, I’m not wallowing in self pity.  Much.

Still, today you get a guest uker.  I mean, some things just don’t need to be documented – like this sleep-deprived disaster coated in dried breast milk, spit up, anti-gas meds, seventeen different nipple creams, and tears.

So today I’ll be sharing a stupendous video from the Fruity Ukulele Ladies that the badass Amanda sent me.  What’s not to love about this song?  Everybody sing along!

I feel better already!  At least I know about Dereon Jeans.  And people say US Weekly is a waste of paper.  Sheesh.

Now follow the lead of that fruity uker in the plaid and get that bottle of vino open, bitches!



  1. i’m so sorry you’re having a rough go of it. i hated it when i was breastfeeding my oldest daughter and people would tell me that it gets easier– it’s hard to even hang on to that hope when your nipples are cracked and bleeding and the baby just.won’t.sleep. even after having sucked on afore mentioned uber painful titties. 🙁

    i may be lynched here, but bottle feeding is what solved my issues. full baby= sleeping baby= healed nipples + sleep for mom. i don’t hold with breastfeeding being something to keep up if it’s not doing what it’s meant to do for all involved.

    take care of yourself, and i hope you have a very merry holiday!

  2. Having never attempted this motherhood thing (I’m an utter failure at keeping plants alive, much less critters who actually need attention) I can’t even imagine the stress of a colicky baby.

    I sincerely doubt your suckitude, though. That’s just the exhaustion and lack of wine talking. Or maybe you’re just too accomplished with the boozehandling to let a single drop join the rest of your protective coating? I can respect that.

  3. So sorry about all the set backs with the whole breastfeeding thing! No one can say that you haven’t given it 110% You have not failed! Sometimes, we just have to know when to say when. I’ve had 4 bottle fed babies…all satisfied customers…Good luck with what ever you decide to do.

    P.S. The video is really cute!!

  4. I’ve heard that they really need to adjust those percentiles now that breastfeeding has been back in vogue the past couple decades. Just sayin’.

    Also sayin’, maybe I should take up single ukein’. I fail at knitting, that’s for sure.

  5. After weeks of painful breast “feeding” (cuz like, nothing was coming out) with massage-feed-pump-airout-massage-feed-pump-airout (you get the idea) both of us were still crying all day. Our pediatrician finally said that a happy mother is a happy baby. That he will eat what I give him and grow healthy and strong, whether it’s the boob or formula. And since my boobs were just a scabby teaser, we went to all bottles of formula. It took me a bit to get over the bitterness I felt about my body not working the way nature (btw, fuck her) intended, but bottle feeding was the bomb. Anyone could do it- which mean Scott and I could share the night time feedings. Hells yes. Ps. Hayden has always floated between 25 and 50% for weight and has ALWAYS been well above 50% for height. The chart they use are not the same as the charts they used when we were little. They have changed to accommodate the trend in weight gain. Per our ped!

  6. Oh, dear. Because I only met you when it was too late, I didn’t want to make you crazy with this information: The first three months are 3857394 million years long. The first year is 1 million years long. So it does get better, just slowly.

    That first year of your first child’s life is really really hard. Figuring out the nightmarish things of colic, sleep habits, cracked nipples, healing scars, washing floors (nope, mine haven’t been washed in, erm um eh maybe six weeks, except triage wipes, but that’s the three kid zone). Nobody wants to hear how hard this parenting stuff is until it is too late and they are in the thick of it and even then denial is a really really powerful thing.

    I had to change things in my diet — that runs in our family quite strongly, an intolerance to all things dairy for the first 8 months plus. Most of them grow out of it and it only seems long when you are lusting after pumpkin pie with whip or ice cream. Then it hurts, you slip and have some and your kid howls for a few hours to make you think harder before ordering the slice of pizza in the next moment of weakness. Spoiler alert: you still order it.

    IDK if this is any help at all, but it is what I have for you. It does get better, but not for a long time yet. You don’t suck, you just feel like almost every sucking mother before you. It just feels like you are worse than everybody because you were pretty sure you were going to be way better than everybody. Oh no wait. That was me.

    Ugh. If this is not funny, I’m going to have to hurt myself. Not for realz, of course, that’s why I had kids.

    lots of love and sorry if this just sounds … wrong.


  7. Oh Poookie, hang in there. We went through the colic with our first. It’s soul wrenching when they scream and cry and there’s nothing you can do. It does get better. I promise.

  8. Oh baby! {{{{{hugs}}}} I stayed with the breastfeeding thing for less than a month for my oldest and 2 weeks for my youngest. I am still traumatized and don’t really like to talk about it. Even with all the women’s study, Feminist movement etc etc behind my back, I was (and still am) made to feel like a failure when I have the flashbacks. Srly, WTF? I don’t want you to live with this burden. Because I shouldn’t. Nobody else should either! The truth is: as soon as I decided that BF was not for US and started doing 100% bottle, I got a much happier baby and I stopped crying every single fucking day. I wish I could be there to help rock Paul during the witching hours. Hey, my mom told me that back in the days women with colicky babies had to go rock their crying babies near the train tracks so the babies would not disturb their husbands when they came home from work. Srly wtf? Sorry. Just really pissed off every time the subject of BF comes up and I could seriously break my foot into someone’s else if they remotely attempt to make anybody feel guilty about this whole fucking thing.

  9. Listen, colic is bad. And every minute is like a million years long when things are going wrong and then suddenly someone with a deep voice is asking you for the car and you are thinking that maybe you would take the colic again just so everything could go back to the way it was. So I guess the advice is to do whatever you have to do to give yourself a break. Because life is too damn short and it goes too damn fast. And before you know it, Paul’s tiny little feet will be just too damn big to suck on those toes.

  10. No no no no! You are not fucking failing. LISTEN TO ME: FUCK THAT.

    I had a baby in the GD 5th percentile for weight and she was somewhat longer and I got the everlovin’ shit scared out of me by the doc. I forced butter into every meal (she was a touch older than Paul, obvs, but still under 18 mos.) turns out, nothing helped. And she was, God bless her teeny soul, a colicky biatch.

    I say, truly? Prioritize. If Paul is otherwise healthy, just keep doing what works for you. Boobs or bottle. But tackle sanity first. Colic will make you shake a baby. No hyperbole. Get yourself some breaks. Get rest when possible, be sane. And the weight? It will come. Or not, maybe he’s gonna be a beanpole. Who the fuck knows? But you? ARE. NOT. FAILING.

  11. Ah, also, food. I had a colicky kid that was dairy and (I later discovered) soy intolerant. When I stopped eating that stuff, she stopped being colicky. Not every kid’s that way, mind you, but I was lucky—maybe it will work for you? Tip: Lays plain potato chips are soy and dairy free.

    Also, about breastfeeding. I totally could have dumped the boob with my first, the colic, then me not eating any fucking dairy, all craptacular. But the boob was something that, while it wasn’t an easy start, worked for me. If it hadn’t, I’d have gone right to formula.

    I’m trying to say, if the boob is working for YOU and baby then try to keep it working. If it’s not pleasing momma or boy, forget it.

    Save the guilt for the day you loudly call out, “Did you remember to use your jock itch spray?” when you drop him off for his first day of freshman year.

  12. Oh babe I wish I could reach through this stupid computer and give you a hug. As everyone else has said her you’re not failing or failure or any of that. It’s hard, damn hard in those early days. My eldest was colicky for what seemed like an eternity. I still remember sitting on the couch just bawling my eyes out from fatigue whilst he lay screaming on my lap, or my shoulder, or in his crib or anywhere for hours on end. It takes it out of you, it rips at your heart, it makes you feel like crap. But you’re not babe. You are doing your best. As some of the others have said do what is right for you, if boob works do it, if bottle works do it. Screw everyone else and give yourself a break. I was a short term breast-feeder (I think 6wks max)thanks to my bustedarse boobs so went the bottle route for which I will forever be grateful. But my sister was a 2yr feeding machine for all 4 of hers, freak. Sometimes you just do what you can, tell everyone else to kiss your arse, and do what makes you happy. In the meantime I am here for as many cyber hugs and shoulders as you need. (hugs)

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