life imitates art
glad head is not pillow, though
too stuffy for me
The wee one has a book – The Story of Honk Honk Ashoo and Swella Bow Wow, by Frank Cosentino. It’s about a little dude who’s head is a pillow, and the sweet little dog he becomes friends with.
I feel a little like Honk Honk Ashoo today, floppy-headed and stuffy. And every time I sit down I fall asleep. I had one of these brief narcoleptic moments just a few minutes ago, and in the five minutes I was asleep I actually had a very short dream about milkshakes.
I think it may be time to wean the wee-er one. She’s 19 months on Friday, and as much as I love the closeness of nursing, I do not love the nursing at night. I am so over the nursing at night. O. Ver. It. Also, she has just started this thing where when she nurses she reaches into my shirt and pinches and scratches and claws at the skin on the outside of my armpit – right in the crook of my arm. My arm crooks are raw. It sucks.
I don’t know how long it will take to wean, but I’m very tempted to just run away for a weekend and see if it resolves itself. I somehow doubt that, though.
So it’s back to being a fluffy-headed Honk Honk Ashoo doppleganger.
And that is the coolest looking sentence I’ve written in a long time.