A brief dispatch from the trenches

My apologies to those of you jonesing for a Frankie fix. Seems like every time I sit down to post an update Frankie decides to crap or cry, and I end up changing a diaper or fixing a bottle or just rocking him until he settles back down. And by then, whatever thought I was trying to finish has come apart, and I'm usually too exhausted to try and piece it back together. It's 10:34am now, and I began this post an hour ago. In between, I fixed his morning bottle before handing him off to Grandpa, changed a diaper, sterilized the bottles and nipples from last night, and started another load of laundry. In half an hour, I need to shower, load Frankie into the car, and head out for another doctor's appointment. So, instead of the post I'd intended to write, you'll have to settle for a preview of coming attractions:

• Frankie has decided that breastfeeding isn't nearly as satisfying as a bottle, so Anna has been religiously expressing breastmilk for the past couple of weeks. It's taking its toll on her physically and emotionally, and now that she's gone back to work, it looks like Frankie's breastmilk days are numbered. I have a few choice words for the "breast is best" advocates, but that's a subject that requires more than the few minutes I currently have to spare.
• The doctors Sears (there's a whole brood of 'em) make a persuasive case for "attachment parenting," but do a piss poor job of reconciling the practice with the care and feeding of a premature baby, or the practical demands of working parents. They too need to be taken to task, and that promises to be a very involved post.
  
• Did I mention that Anna has gone back to work, or that I've started teaching classes again, or that my advisor is pressuring me to finish (start) my dissertation ASAP? I'm convinced that "post-partum depression" is actually a euphemism for "sleep deprivation," and as much as Anna and I would like to think that we're ready to handle Frankie all by our lonesome, neither of us is looking forward to Grandpa's return to Houston.

I'm sure there's more, but if I don't hop in the shower now, we're not going to make it to the doctor's office by 11:30. I'll be pushing it as is. Wish me luck.