We call the big one bitey and other tales of woe…

Back in college my husband lived with several of our friends in a house in Ft. Collins. One of those friends had 3 ferrets, and the largest one had a penchant for nipping. The saying they came up with at the time was “We call the big one Bitey”. Therefore, Lee completely understood what I meant when I looked at him the other day while nursing Otter and said “we call the big one Bitey.”

Otter is cutting 4 molars currently, and lately he has been testing my dedication to breastfeeding.

Chomp goes the baby.

No Otter!! No biting!! says I, in a stern voice that causes Otter to pull away a little and look sadly at me, lips a-tremble. A delicate sigh will escape his down turned mouth and then he will snuggle back down to nursing.

CHOMP!!! goes the baby.

Fuck!! Get OFF me! I’m Done!! I scream through gritted teeth.

Lee!! Take him before I do something I regret!! I implore as I clutch my wounded nipple in a vain attempt to stop the throbbing pain.

Wah!! says the baby, as he is carried away from milk and Mama, confused and uncertain as to why he has been bereft of his favorite snack/snuggle time.

Ow…ow…OW…OW….OW!! The kid is biting hard enough that it takes days for the pain to fully recede. I don’t want to stop nursing right now, but I am starting to get nipple shy. I swear, my nipples attempt to retreat back into my body whenever Otter comes near me.

Ideas? Suggestions? Sources for nipple armor?

To add insult to injury, or actually injury to injury, I managed to put my left hand into a fully operational ceiling fan yesterday while attempting to organize my very tall space-saving bookshelf. (It turns out that fan related injuries are an inherent downside of space saving.) I am currently debating a visit to the doctor to see if it is supposed to hurt this much and stay this swollen. I am having a hard time typing, lifting, driving, diapering, coffee making, fork holding, etc.

Of course, I am a stay at home mom, so clearly all I need it for is retrieving bon-bons from the coffee table right?

Right?

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6 thoughts on “We call the big one bitey and other tales of woe…”

  1. take my assvice for what it’s worth (< .02) but I remember reading that teaching babies not to bite is like teaching them not to stick their fingers in sockets. You do it and there are consequences that aren’t favorable. So while it seemed extreme, maybe the message got through?

  2. Bite him back? j/k

    Ah, the days of the million ferrets and guarding your pant legs so Bitey doesn’t run up them and bite your legs. That brings back memories.

  3. First it was fun meeting you this weekend!

    Second – OUCH! Ouch, ouch, ouch!! I’ve never had a biter to that extent. With Simon I squealed once and it freaked him out and he never did it again. Quinn thought squealing was *funny* so I changed tacks with him. I’d say something like “ouch! I guess you’re done with ‘me-me'” and put him down. He did cry, and I would pick him back up and try again after a minute and it did stop. But neither of them actually did damage!

    Nicole L

  4. Nicole,
    It was nice to meet you too! I am glad to have had the opportunity to do so, maybe we can meet again in the future and discuss more AP stuff!

    I will have to find some sort of tactic that works… so far its Otter 7/ Mommy 0.

    Ugh.

  5. Is pumping and feeding him pumped breast milk in a bottle out of the question? I don’t have any other suggestions! 😦 But… OUCH!

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