Catch 22

It’s been a week and a half since the breastfeeding tour of duty ended but it hasn’t gone without its repercussions. Instead of W making his “time to nurse” throat clearing sounds to cue me in advance, he just blatantly reaches down my shirt like it’s a bag of candy, grabs a hold of flesh and squeezes it like the bulb the RN uses to take my blood pressure. His eyes sort of glaze over as if he’s just come off of a huge bong hit and he goes limp with the satisfaction of connection. Sometimes just looking at my mini rack as I dress in the morning is enough to make him go weak in the knees. He yearns silently, wistfully. I can see it in his eyes.

The absence of breastfeeding in the morning has had its mixed blessings. Now most mornings I either have to wake W up or I find him playing quietly in his crib without a trace of urgency on his face. The fact that I need to sometimes wake him means that I’m not getting up any earlier either which translates in to not enough time to get to the gym and out again. Yeah, so I guess I could start setting my alarm and getting my a.m. act together but dammit, I’ve been waking up at the ass crack of dawn for what seems like forever and the last thing I want to do is be jolted awake by anything other than my kiddo. Just doesn’t seem fair but neither is the hit you take on the bod after growing a person in your person.

In other news...W is finally sprouting a few more teeth which is another reason to be grateful that the boob trough is permanently closed for business. Interestingly enough though, his new teeth are all on one side of his mouth and it's looking pretty weird, folks.