January 22nd, 2007
Maybe one of the last ever things the world hears about my boobs
Graham is weaning. This is not a mutual decision — this morning he filed formal papers with the State Attorney General’s office requesting that he be awarded full legal custody of my boobs “…and their endless, magical contents” on the grounds that I am no longer of sound mind and therefore cannot be considered mentally fit to govern their usage.
But despite whatever the judge may decide, which I’m assuming will depend on whether or not he/she is a LLL leader and/or whether he or she resents being weaned from his own mother’s teat too early, it really is time. If I were one of those bizarre outerspace people who keep their kids on any sort of schedule, I might continue on a few more months. But the crazy go-with-the-groove way it is now means that any time he remembers about the boobs he goes, “Hey, you know what I’d rather be doing right now? Getting me some of that boobie milk!”
He throws down his toys and rudely demands access to the inside of my shirt.
I’ve heard that many toddlers invent adorable names for this request: Mimi, neenee, Babas, Milkies, Gajonga Juice, and so forth. My child has never been so subtle. He used to point at my chest and shout “Eat. Eat. EAT.” which was funny at home but less so at Kevin’s company Christmas party, while we were talking to his boss’ boss and trying to make a graceful exit.
Now he doesn’t even give me that much courtesy. He pulls down the front of my shirt and dives in with his entire body. In case I’m not paying attention and still don’t know what he wants, he’ll helpfully say “Boobie! Mama, baby. Boobie.”
I don’t know. I’m not sexualizing breastfeeding in any way; that’s stupid and if you take what I’m about to say that way, you’re stupid. But I do have this general awareness that I’m raising boys here, and boys shouldn’t grow up in the habit of thinking that they can rudely demand access to a woman’s… well, anything. No means no! And “not now” means not now. And “can you at least wait until I’m done going to the bathroom?” Means seriously, dude, GET OUT OF MY SHIRT.
I’m the same way with Nicolaus and his demanding to climb on me. He calls it cuddling, as in fake-pout, “Awww… I just wanted to cuddle with you.” but I promise you it’s climbing. Nicolaus hates actual cuddling. He’ll tolerate hugging if it is brief and if he is given written notice in advance of the hug, but cuddling? Fuck you. But he loves to climb on me, especially when I’m holding Graham because, well, you know. Honestly I don’t know why people think you need a bigger house once you have kids because our entire family takes up four square feet. Including the dog. As I move through the house, they’re all firmly adhered to my legs and if we didn’t have wood floors I’d think it was maybe monstrous static cling.
So I’m weaning Graham, at least during the day. It’s going alright. My formal approach has been to tell him “no, no sorry, all gone!” and “That’s for night-night.”
On Friday that made him cry.
On Saturday that made him cry.
On Sunday, he came up with a joke. He’d run over to me, tug at my shirt and say, “Naow-nnno. Boobie dadone. HAHAHAHA.”
Then he’d grin and lean forward and make pretend eating-smacking noises. And laugh and shake his head and say nnnno.
Then he scrunched his face up and he FAKE CRIED. Hooooooohooooo. Naow-no. Hahahaha.
Like I’ve said since he was four months old: I am almost certain this baby is mocking me.
January 22nd, 2007 at 3:00 pm
OMG, he’s so mocking you. Oy. I could have written this: “Honestly I don’t know why people think you need a bigger house once you have kids because our entire family takes up four square feet. Including the dog. As I move through the house, they’re all firmly adhered to my legs and if we didn’t have wood floors I’d think it was maybe monstrous static cling.” Oh, yes. Including in the middle of the night. Squished between husband and four-year old, dog on my legs, 17 pound cat on my head. And I wonder why I don’t sleep well….
January 22nd, 2007 at 3:23 pm
My sister and I are sitting here laughing our asses off at this. At least Graham is having a sense of humor about it.
January 22nd, 2007 at 3:23 pm
I prefer to think of it as Bazonga Bonanza.
January 22nd, 2007 at 4:02 pm
I went through this with my older daughter when she was roughly 20 months old. It drove me crazy and though I was committed to child-led weaning, I knew that kind of behavior would lead us to quitting all together. I finally had it when I was on the phone with my own mother trying to explain the importance of extended nursing and my daughter jumped on my lap, literally screaming to be nursed and pulling on my shirt. My mother was like “hmmmmm, good thing you’ve got going over there!” and I just thought, that’s it, we’ve got to fix this.
Now we nurse upon waking up in the morning, before nap and before bed. That’s IT. We are completely not at all schedule people, either, so that’s why it works that we only nurse at certain events that occur every day, not necessarily at certain times (she doesn’t even go to bed the same time every day!).
Okay, sorry for the ramble, I just wanted to say we were right there with you and that if you’re interested, there can be a solution to continuing to nurse under some guidelines.
Good Luck to you! Your little guy sounds like alot of fun :)
January 23rd, 2007 at 10:23 am
This is one of those entries that I wished would go on forever, or at least like book length. Very funny and readable and … I don’t know… friendly? Like I’m talking on the phone to this awesomely smart and funny storyteller friend.
Good luck with the weaning. Sounds like he’s handling it well, at least for a smartass adorable little mocker of a boob hog.
January 23rd, 2007 at 12:52 pm
Oh, and I totally forgot: Jugs Jubilee, Hooters Fountain, and Aereola Surprise.
January 25th, 2007 at 9:53 am
Funny kid you have. Definitely mocking you! How old is he?
I just weaned (well, about two months ago) my kid, on the eve of her 3rd birthday. It took a good six weeks before she stopped asking. And she still sticks her hands down my shirt. So I don’t know that it’s just a boy thing.
Good luck!
January 25th, 2007 at 7:19 pm
Your first paragraph is genius. As is a baby with a highly developed sense of mockery.