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"Mom! I'm being haved! " (after being told to behave)"

- Cody Klinge (3)

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The Fourth Trimester

The Fourth Trimester: Rock-a-Bye Parents

I wish, sometimes, that people were more like camels. That we could store up stuff like fat in a camel’s hump for dry desert miles. I would tell parents to be to sleep as much as they could and store it in their hump for after the baby is born. Unfortunately, we are nothing like camels, except that some of us enjoy spitting (especially at red lights out the windows of our Ford F150s.) We humans need to figure out how to get enough sleep with a new baby around.

I often ask expectant parents a trick question. I ask them to tell me how much sleep they need to feel “normal.” The responses are always entertaining:

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La la la Leche League

When my friend told me, about 13 years ago, that she was having breastfeeding trouble, I think my childless response was, “Oh.” I had no idea how stressful it was and just didn’t get why my friend was upset. I gave her a hug and went out with my boyfriend.

The next day, she was doing much better. She said she had spoken to her “La Leche League Leader” who gave her a lot of great tips. I thought she was either making a bad high school Spanish joke or she had developed some strange postpartum alliteration disorder. Later, when I had my own nursing issues, I called her and asked, “Who was that “La Leche whatever” person you called when Morgan was a baby?”
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The Fourth Trimester: Dipes, Wipes and . . .Clearasil?

By Nina Alviar

We were talking to our mutual fund manager, Frank. When our littlest baby cooed and Frank looked down at him, he smiled sweetly and said “Awwww! What a cute baby – WHAT’S THAT ALL OVER HIS FACE??” . . . Lovely . . . Keep in mind this is the guy who also said that “Shooting a big buck is pointless because it’s like eating Arnold Schwarzenegger. But shooting a doe,” he says, pointing to our older boy, “is like eating him.”

We’re used to Frank.
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The Fourth Trimester: A Dog’s Life

By Nina Alviar

If you live in Missoula, I’m willing to bet you have a dog (and maybe a Subaru.) Maybe the dog is a test run for having a kid. You started with houseplants, then a fish, figuring if you could keep them alive you’d move on to a dog and with its successful survival you could be a confident parent. But this dog is already like your kid. A part of the family. Maybe your only family. All that is about to change.
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The Case of the Disappearing Penis

By Nina Alviar

You are about to give your bouncing baby boy a diaper change, so you peel down the diaper from between his Pilsbury Dough Boy thighs. Since he’s looking right at you, you try not to look alarmed- or scream. But – WTF! His penis is gone. That’s right, GONE. The teacher’ voice from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off echoes in your head “Penis? Penis? . . . Penis?” You have a Baby Houdini on your hands, Ta-da! Just a dent remains and the lines of a would-be scrotum.
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