Before I say anything you should know that I debated for several minutes about how to spell boobie. Booby or boobie? Is there a definitive spelling? Neither looks correct to me.
Anyhow, just popping by to tell you all that I am officially weaning. And I’m okay with it. Kind of sad, but okay. I never thought I’d be one of those moms who got all worked up about weaning, but there you go.
In my last post about weaning, a couple of you mentioned driving cross-country for our upcoming move to Pennsylvania may be easier if I were still breastfeeding and a couple of you think bottles would be easier. Seems to me that bottles will be easier. Although Natalie suggested this compelling scenario for road trips: “Climb in the back seat, lean over the car seat, dangle the boob in baby’s face. No need to stop the car! Moo while you are at it because you are essentially a dairy cow in this scenario”, Abbey convinced me when she left a comment that says in part, “You don’t have to sterilize or warm…just take room temp bottled water for mixing. Oh and get some containers for pre-measured servings of formula. Much easier than stopping ever few miles to cluster feed.”
It seems young Hank has no such similar remorse about weaning. He’s already replaced me. For the past couple of days, when sitting on the couch together, I’ve noticed he keeps looking past my face and grinning his best grin at something just above my head. I could never tell what he was looking at, just figured he was checking out the sunlight patterns that our blinds leave on the walls or I don’t know… who knows what babies are seeing?
It wasn’t until today when Serge noticed him staring into the great beyond, again, and followed his gaze that we discovered what’s been holding his fancy lo these past few days: the light fixture. You can see the actual light fixture there in the photo up there to the left and I don’t think I need to tell you what it looks like.
Wait! Maybe my little pal hasn’t replaced me so much as he’s trying to tell me he isn’t ready to wean? Perhaps all this flirtation with the light fixture is his way of telling me he still needs a little boobie in his life? Because, y’all, he is obsessed with that thing. If he’s sitting on the couch, he’s looking at the boobie, if I carry him down the hall to change his diaper he stares longingly back at the boobie. Bye boobie, he lowers his lashes in bashful goodbye. And when we return to the living room his face lights up brighter than the boobie in the sky when turned on.
But alas, no more boobie for Henry… until he’s at least 20, dammit! And, of course, it won’t be my boobie then.