well it's my birthday too, yeah

jude has an ear infection! poor baby! we celebrated his birthday nonetheless. he is feeling better since we started the antibiotic. the doctor thought i was joking when i asked what he thought about putting breastmilk in jude's ear. why hadn't he heard of that? my father in law says that the ear won't let the breastmilk get to the place of infection.

it was strange to take jude to his one year doctor visit. the nurse assumed he wasn't still nursing. perhaps i'm just way out there, but i assume that breastfeeding isn't a foreign, obsolete practice. innocent weirdo that i am. every visit so far starts with "what formula is he drinking?" is it right to assume that breastfeeding is in the minority around here if formula feeding is the assumption of the doctors?

i was nursing at the park one day last fall when jude was still exclusively breastfed and a little, sparkling girl kept trying to see what was going on, asking me what the baby was doing and "where is his bottle?" i had mixed emotions: do i let her see "(by just sitting there and doing what we're doing) the mechanics of it since "that's what breasts are for" or should i hide from her since her mama obviously hasn't educated her about the varying ways babies eat? henry knows that some babies eat from bottles and others from breasts, is it the norm that bottle-fed children are not educated about "the other way?" i told the girl to take her pigtails over and ask her mama what my baby was doing. i figured it wasn't up to me to decide. call me chicken, i dare you.

so the sad baby cried when we sang happy birthday to him. he threw globs of chocolate ice cream across the table. he smeared cake on his chubby thighs. he had a bath and then came down for presents. he watched henry "help" him open his presents. he chewed on the fabulous haba wooden animals. he went to bed early and slept long and hard. his nearly four teeth gnash together and he cries.









but he is one, full of speed and spree. i look at his long legs and remember the tiny little thing whose diapers wouldn't fit, premature yet without flaw, the miracle of life in my hands and arms. "he is perfect!" exclaimed the neonatologist through the white mask, his black eyes and indian skin crinkling up in a smile, his face a mere kissing distance away from mine as everyone rushed around with relief, with vindication.