The Cover-Milker

Brynna was trying hard to chivvy me out of bed this morning so we could all have waffles together.

I, in the midst of enjoying my only weekend off for at least the next five weeks, was somewhat resistant.

B was not to be denied. "Get up, Mama, get up!

Then she started throwing my clothes on the bed (admittedly, they were close at hand, since I'd dropped them on the floor when getting into bed the night before).

"Here your pants, Mama!" she crowed, tossing a pair of running pants in the general vicinity of my face.

"And here your cover-milker!" she shouted, launching a bra onto the bed.

She was somewhat taken aback by the snorts of laughter that started eminating from under the covers.

I suppose, from Brynna's perspective, "cover-milker" describes a bra's function to a T. We've had a good long run of breastfeeding, the two of us. But I think we're almost done. She's no longer asking on any sort of schedule, and we've gone as long as a week in between sessions. (She tells me there's still milk there, though.) Mostly it's a quick drive-by, lasting about ten seconds—just long enough to reassure herself that she can. Every time she nurses, I think that it could be the last time. And one of these days, I'm going to be right.

Breastfeeding B has been such a cornerstone of our relationship that it makes me a little teary to think about not doing it anymore. It's something I've been able to do for her (and with her) despite working crazy hours as a medical student and a resident, and as she's become more mobile and busy it's become one of the few times that she sits still and lets me snuggle her. On the other hand, after carrying her around inside me for just shy of forty weeks, and then nursing for two and a half years, I think I'm ready to have my body to myself again. Though I suppose there's no harm in letting her refer to my bras as cover-milkers. It's a much nicer word!

Slippers

There's been a bevy of new footwear in the house.

A month ago Brynna got some adorable LL Bean slippers with puppy dogs on them. (You may vomit now if you wish, but they actually are very cute and not too obnoxious). We soon discovered a problem, however: as like as not, we would bring them with Brynna to Miss A's each morning, then forget to bring them back home that evening! The solution: another pair. Alas, I guess LL Bean had a run on puppies, because there were none left online. So, instead, we opted for kittens. The reasoning, as we explained it to Brynna, was that she has the puppy slippers at home because she has Jasper at home, and the kittens stay at Miss A's because there is a cat there. Apparently this is logical enough to a 2-1/2 year old to avoid the otherwise inevitable "Why."

After five (six, seven?) years, my trusty slippers have finally worn out. I guess it is OK to let go when only 50% of the outer sole remains, and you can easily poke a finger or two in at your toes.
To avoid offending Hilary by buying an exact replacement from LL Bean (leather), I ended up with a pair made by Smartwool. They have synthetic rubber soles, cork and felt insoles, and wool uppers - no leather. Pretty cozy so far. Let's hope they last another five years.

Hilary's father purchased some very serious around-the-house slippers a few days ago. They're booties, but with a sole that can take some abuse. The uppers, which go above the ankle, are down-filled. He was visiting this past weekend, so rather than have them sit in the mail in CT for all weekend doing him no good, he had Zappos send them directly to Concord.

Here's to warm feet!

Brynna and The Big Snow

The book obsession over the last couple of weeks:



Gee, I wonder why?


We have actually run out of room to put snow that we shovel off the driveways and sidewalk. The good thing about this is that the piles almost cover the dead mums that we have thus far failed to move to the compost heap.

The Pacifier Obsession

B: "I'm going to the North Pole with my dolly and all the kiddies. I need my Nuk."

Me: "But you aren't going to sleep! You're just pretending to go to sleep."

B: "Yes I am. I am going to the North Pole and I go to sleep there." Sticks Nuk in mouth, mounts rocking moose with blankets and dolly, puts head down on antlers.

I just don't know how to respond to that.

When Your Kid Pretty Much Calls You A Wuss

"I'm cold!" I said to Brynna this evening, as our house slowly made its way back toward its evening, habitable temperatures.

"Why?" she said, snug in her very stylish jammies-over-turtleneck outfit. "You have a sticker on you to keep you warm. And you have clothes on you to keep you warm."

Who can argue with that logic?