When I was little, the Disney Channel was a new thing.  They’d play the same programming over and over.  I can’t tell you how many times I watched The Parent Trap, Pollyanna and, my personal favorite, Summer Magic.  I thought Hayley Mills was the coolest even with her horrible bangs.  In between Ms. Mills’ films, they would air old cartoons from the ’40s and ’50s.  I assume that these shorts were treats shown before the main feature at the local cinema back in the day (way before my “day” at any rate).  It wasn’t just the style the cartoons were drawn in, the music that accompanied the images were outta this world.  I have come to realize that my favorites were part of an anthology Disney released called Make Mine Music in 1946 (Thanks, wikipedia.org!).  Watching them on youtube these days reminds me of the nights I’d turn off all the lights in the living room, and turn on our 24″ zenith (the one with the wood paneling and the buttons on the top right corner to turn the channel).  Before I did this, however, I would open the front panel and turn the knob for the “brightness” all the way down so there was little light emanating from the talking picture box. I would be so proud of myself, thinking that I was being sly because my parents wouldn’t see that the tv was on if it was dark in the living room.  Forget the fact that they’d see the flicker of the tv on the walls. At any rate, I’ll save my stories for my naughty small kid time antics for another time.  In the meantime, enjoy the cartoon. I wish they still drew them like this these days.

I like to call my daughter Princess Poopey Pants.  I think one can ascertain, for obvious reasons, why I refer to her as such but for those who might be a tad bit clueless, my daughter’s digestive tract is very healthy.  This morning I went through 5 diapers in a matter of about 30 minutes.  I like to chalk it up to the fact that I’m breastfeeding her and have been doing so religiously for the past four months.  Now before you either golf clap, roll your eyes or genuinely applaud my efforts, I never thought for a minute, *before* I got pregnant, that I wouldn’t do anything but breastfeed.  Although I had some major misgivings during those early, sleepless days when she was a newborn and wanting to feed at all hours and times, and considered formula for a split second, I haven’t regretted my decision to be my daughter’s food supply.  Sure it means being diligent in cleaning & sterilizing bottles and pump parts (I’m seriously a pro now), getting in an extra pumping session here or there so that she always has milk (whether it’s at 11pm or at 4:30am), and waking up in the middle of the night because my very small breasts are screaming out at me in pain because they are full of milk and have already leaked all over my sheets (do you know what dried breast milk smells like?  not very pleasant).  Regardless of the challenges, it has been worth it.  Even with the multiple diapers filled with poop of epic proportions.  The positive side to this, aside from all the health benefits that she’s supposedly getting, is the fact that her poop doesn’t smell as bad as formula fed babies.  Or so I’m told.  Regardless, any poop to me smells bad.  What makes it bearable is that fact that it’s coming from my precious Princess Poopey Pants and what’s coming out of her originates from me.  Kinda like some very odd circle of life thing minus Simba, Timon and Scar.