The Endless Gravy Train

Somehow a whole year went by without my noticing that it was time for Lauren to move on from being breastfed. Certainly I was more aware of it when I had to pump constantly, but unlike the first time when I was counting the days until Sydney’s 6-month mark so I could move on with my life, Lauren, who has been a champion nurser the entire time, is somehow still attached.

So kudos to me for managing to breastfeed one of my daughters for a whole year and apparently beyond. However, the consequence is that the one year old is much more cognizant, communicative and aware than the 6 month old and thus getting off the gravy train is way more difficult.

I’ve stopped “offering” except at the very end of the day, a nighttime cuddle fest which usually (although not always) ends with her drifting off to sleep. But certain patterns have been established, and Lauren, like her mother, does not easily take “no” for an answer, so there are many times during the day when we find ourselves back where we started. Add to that, she knows where the substance comes from and the other day actually successfully procured it herself with no help from me. Note to self: wear button up shirts from now on.

So this morning I was putting my socks on to go to work and absentmindedly talking to Daddy while Lauren toddled around on the floor, when the Boppie pillow fell from its perch and landed right next to her. Up until that time she’d forgotten all about it, but the sight of the pillow reminded her that when we sit in the living room on a certain chair with a certain pillow, good things start to happen, and she was desperately trying to get mine or Daddy’s attention by pointing at the pillow and at the chair to no avail, and then finally decided to take matters into her own hands and tried to pick up the pillow to put onto the chair when she tripped and fell, causing much havoc and tears.

I left. Daddy prepared a bottle. I don’t know where the brakes are and the train is approaching the 1 ½ year station. If we don’t get off before she starts to talk, I might be doomed.