Schedule Schmedule

In an effort to expose my baby to art and life in all formats, her/our schedule has gone completely haywire. So far, Olivia has survived unscathed as far as sleeping has gone, but I fear my boobs are mad at me. She is of the age where she can drink 6 ounces of boob juice or formula in one sitting and I am currently pumping 4-5. Luckily I have reserves to keep on top of this, but I am starting to panic (which probably isn't helping). I read that it takes 3 days to really f-up your production and I think this weekend was teetering on the danger zone of drying up.
I mentioned the Art Institute and the next day was Ravinia and then we went to Racine to watch Auntie Chrissy and Uncle Jeff kick a$$ in the half ironman (last year, the race I was training for when I found out I was knocked up). In spite of my new found confidence in breastfeeding in public, Olivia has a new found preference for the faster, artificial nipple. (sigh).
So, on top of regressing in production, I am resigned to pumping. Lemme tell you. I am beginning to feel like those cows you see hooked up to the milking machines with that look of it's-not-just-sucking-my-milk-but-also-my-soul look on their faces. The only thing that keeps me going is the thought that I am helping my baby be the best that she can be.... and burning calories. I do have to say, though, that whenever I open the fridge, I have a whole new appreciation for that gallon of milk sitting on the shelf.
Don't ever get smug or over confident that you have the best baby on the planet and can go anywhere with him/her. There will always be some situation to prove you wrong. That situation, for me, was taking Olivia to Ravinia this past Saturday night. On top of it being a gorgeous evening, we were going to see the CSO perform Beethoven's 9th. CLASSICAL music. Who can't be lulled to sleep with cool breezes and classical music?! Olivia, that's who. This baby, who fell asleep in the middle of a noisy restaurant screamed bloody murder right at the most beautiful moments in Beethoven's 9th aka Ode to Joy aka the music that they always play for explosion sequences in movies. I honestly think she was saving all of that pent up anger for this moment. Of course, it could be the fact that it was her bed time and she was cranky, but, in my defense, she gave me the impression that all she could sleep anywhere in any position.
So, I am tempting fate by considering taking her to listen to Flamenco at the Botanic Gardens. John seems to think that this is a bad idea. But, everybody deserves a second chance, right?