small, like fresh hamsteak
get good look before it’s gone
shrinking mama butt
And since we’re on the topic of too much information, let me speak for a moment about weaning a toddler from the breast. Now that the wee one is nearly two, I’ve redoubled my efforts to wean him from his nightly nursing spree. The trouble is that he’s started begging.
time: 4:38 AM this morning
location: mommy and daddy’s bed (yes, we co-sleep, but that’s a whole different post. We didn’t know we were
hippies until we had a baby)
Wee One: MOMMY! meeee-ilk!
Me: (pretending to still be asleep, or playing possum, if you will)
WO: meeee-ilk! Mommy! (frantic grabbing at my shirt)
Me: (losing the battle of playing possum)
WO: Mommy! TURN ON MEEE-ILK!
Me: (sleepily, grumpily) Baby, the milk’s all gone
WO: (as if I have skewered his fragile little self-esteem with one of those giant whale harpoons) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Me: Shhhh, shhhh, just go back to sleep
WO: (thrashing wildly now and whacking the back of daddy’s head with various glancing blows) Need it! NEED IT!
Me: (debating frantically in my head) do I just give in? He’ll go right back to sleep. No. I need to stand my ground. I’m reclaiming the boobs. But if he keeps thrashing he’ll wake hubby up who already has to get up for work in an hour. No. Stand firm. No more booby sharing. The boobs are mine. MINE.
WO: TURN ON TURN ON TURN ON TURN ON MEEEE-ILK.
Me: (uselessly trying to substitute pacifier) Here you go, little man.
WO: AAAAAAHHHHHHH! No paci! (flails arms and cries as if I have just insulted him in the meanest most base way)
Me: (lifting shirt, going against everything that will actually help wean him)
Did you see that? I gave in to the tantrum. You’re never EVER supposed to do that. Dr. Phil, Dr. Brazelton, Dr. Spock — they would all string me up by my coveted nipples if they knew what I did. I have to learn to stand my ground. Keep my shirt down. Reclaim the nipples.