Know What I Hate?

Burping. Not people belching although that certainly can be disgusting. No, I mean the act of burping a baby. Hate it. HATE IT. HATE. IT. When can I stop burping The Bon anyway? I know, I know, just file that under "Things I Shouldn't Have to Ask Since She Is Not My First (Or Even Second) Baby." I honestly don't remember, though. I guess it's one of the many unpleasant memories I've repressed over the years.

It's just so HARD. Getting a burp out of Bonnie is tough at the best of times but when she's swaddled up in her baby burrito wrap, it's damn near impossible. Honestly, I'd rather clean the bathroom after Tom's poker friends visit than sweat through the Russian Roulette of burping that baby in the middle of the night, hoping that I can get the air out of her before she wakes up pissed at me for pounding her back like the Whack-a-Mole game on the boardwalk. Reflecting on my poor burping skills and wondering whether that could be why she is waking up so crabby within a few hours led to this anti-burping rant. Time to hit the hay as Queen B's next feeding frenzy and the frustrating burping attempt to follow is sure to come soon.