In The Language of “Heh”
Tuesday, October 20th, 2009April has been a bit of a goofball since (seriously) the moment she was born.
It started with the fact that the second she shot out of my vagina (and the water in which she was born into), she hollered louder than a damn feline in heat fighting for catnip. I mean, really. That kid shattered every window in my house along with my eardrums. Now I’m deaf, so if I don’t answer your phone call, you know why.
Then she decided not to open her eyes to let us get a peek at ‘em until the day after her birth. At which point, when she did open them, she scared the living shit out of me and had me thinking Oh good heavens, no quarter Chinese baby should come out with pale blue eyes… she must be blind… sob… Almost a year later they’ve pretty much settled on a lovely shade of hazel just like her daddy’s gorgeous eyes. But you know, for like six months I thought that maybe at least one of my kids inherited at one of my recessive traits. Not so. Both my kids look like I had absolutely no involvement whatsoever in their genetic makeup. Honey, I think the milkman must be their mother.
And then, then there was the obscene booby sucking that girl did. Holy Mother of Christ, she wasn’t just sucking milk out, she was eating my nipple and devouring every ounce of breast tissue involved in making that sticky sweet crap that my body somehow managed to produce for my kids. In a matter of two days she’d gained a couple of pounds instead of losing weight as most newborns do. Luckily, the extra weight she gained seemed to be a direct result of her sucking fat right out of my ass. Which was a really good thing, considering I gained 47 pounds while I was pregnant.
So move forward to when she finally started “talking” several months later.
She decided she’d rather laugh than talk, which sent all of us into peals of guffaws every time. Of course, with that sort of reaction, she wasn’t going to stop. Before long, the number one thing coming from that girl’s obscenely loud vocal cords was a hearty “Heh!” while she flashed her adorable dimples to everyone within eyeshot.
“Heh!” became the word for everything she liked, particularly when she knew it was time to eat. Which, of course, was from my poor, swollen-to-the-size-of-melons breasts. No, for real. Check out my knockers the night she was born… they’re twice the size of April’s hairy little head… and this was BEFORE my milk came in:
When my milk came in less than a day after she was born (and you moms know that it can take a week for that stuff to come in, but no, not mine...), NASA actually sent a satellite to my home to figure out why the hell the moon was gravitating toward Tucson, Arizona.
Are you seeing where this is going? PROBABLY NOT because I can’t seem to stay on track today, BUT WHATEVER. What I’ve been trying to say is this: if I ever develop a complex about my boobs, the culprit is going to be that child.
Every time she’d see my tits, she started yelling, “Heh! Heh! Heh!…,” before latching on and sucking hard enough to cause a letdown that shot out of the other boob and hit everything within a 10-foot radius within a matter of seconds. It got so bad that any time I’d hear her yell Heh, I’d feel the hot, tingly oh-gawd-no-run-milk-is-going-to-start-flooding-the-room let-down, and I developed this habit of squishing my boobs as hard as possible to keep the milk from soaking my clothes in the most embarrassing spot possible. Hey, ya’ll! I’m here for the wet t-shirt contest!
I figured the “Heh!” stage would pass eventually, but alas, it has only become a more prevalent part of her vocalization. You know we’ve arrived because once April sees something she likes, everyone in the room hears her infectious laugh, “Heh!“.
I’m signing that girl up for the vocal lessons I never had the talent to attempt. She’s going to shatter the windows in every opera house known to man on this planet someday.
So anyway, I totally thought that eventually she’d forget that my boobs made her so happy at one point, but so far, she hasn’t. Every time she sees them, she yells a loud, “HEH!…,” except now, NOW she like to point at them, then look back at her dad with a huge grin at her face like, DADDY! Look at mommy’s BOOBIES! Aren’t they fucking HILARIOUS? And James looks at her, all proud, before gawking at my ta-tas like a 12-year-old who just figured out how good masturbation feels when his body is mature enough to squirt something out at the end. And then both of them are practically “heh-heh-hehing” at me while I’m trying to change my clothes as quick as humanly possible.
And you know what I do?
My hands fly to my boobs still because despite the fact that I stopped nursing a few months ago, everyonceinawhile I still get that tingly sensation from way back in my armpits. And I just know that one of these days I’ll be dressed to the nines, braless, in a silk cocktail dress, and milk will miraculously start shooting out from my dried-up-boobs because someone utters a sarcastic, “Heh,” in the middle of a conversation and my body reacts out of instinct.
But good Lord, despite the fact that my daughter happens to be the reason my hands fly to my tits every time I hear someone laughing, she is just so freaking adorable that it’s all worth it.
Damn, she’s cute, isn’t she?
Current Mood:
Happy
Cool