There were three in the bed and the little one said...

TWO-TWO MILKS!!!!!

Likely bellowed from bed (his mood pre-milk is much like mine pre-coffee) or at the start of a long car ride once everyone is strapped in, most people who have met N soon learn his term for nursing. Some babies adopt adorable terms like "Mo-mo", "Nummies" or even the simple, Hooters-approved, "Booooobies!" N is more practical. "There are two of them, they make milk. It's not rocket science," I imagine him explaining, exasperated. 

I'm vaguely aware that a sizeable portion of the U.S. has some sort of opinion about nursing a nearly two year old. Some passionately support the health and psychological benefits for mother and child; others see it as socially unacceptable to provide nourishment to a child who's old enough to ask to be fed from a body part that society would rather resexualize. 

For me, it's simply a continuation of the mixture of feelings, challenges and benefits of feeding a newborn. It's often a pain in the boob. The physical discomfort has graduated from the cracked, raw nipples of learning to latch, to the exquisite pain of having soft, delicate flesh treated like the extendable rubber of a taught elastic band. The clawing scratches of infant fingernails made way for heel-to-the-boob kicks when suddenly, "toesies want two-two milks!" And now I am almost nostalgic for the awkward fumbling of public latch-ons with a squalling babe, when strangers and friends alike are often treated to N confidently locating and removing all coverings to his beloved Two-Two Milks at a moment's notice. 

I hear there are a few mothers out there who are able to marry modesty and breastfeeding for longer than a few months. That's wonderful. After 18 hrs of labor, birth, bleeding nipples and a screaming, hungry T, Modesty was simply reprioritized to somewhere between color-coordinating my linen closet and gnawing off my big toe.

But for a mama who spends 40-50+ hrs a week away from her two little ones, telling stories to a nursing N--bown eyes wide and attentive--when I get home from work; stroking his hair while he nurses to sleep at night; and when he wakes up, snuggling his body in a ball that I can tuck against my belly, are three of my favorite times of the day. Sure, he could get all his daily nutrition from food alone; but maybe not with breastmilk's antibodies and extra je-ne-sais-quoi. Sure, we would still cuddle if he weaned. But my arms would compete more often with the thrill of bed jumping, the curiosity of whatever his sister is up to, and the indefatigable draw of glowing screens. 

So I'll put up with my not-so-tiny bed-hog and the midnight roundhouse kicks to the face (see footnote on bed-sharing); the umpteenth assertion that I do NOT have Go-Go-Gadget nipples; and the occasional flash of boob to the unsuspecting public. We'll save pennies and patience for the excessive and expensive travel plans to keep him, and a familiar caregiver, with me on work trips. And if anyone is looking with eyes that judge me or him for being two and "still" nursing, let them look. I'm too busy feeding my son and trying to keep my clothes and sensitive parts in tact as I do so, to notice or care. 

Because he is my last baby, and once this particular connection is gone, it doesn't come back. Because I believe the clearest path to independence is the one children choose to pursue themselves. Because right now I can't give him everything, but this is a gift--of nutrition and connection--that I can. 

Photo on exhibit in the Nursing is Normal project, VT, by Studio Ten13

*We started co-sleeping in large part because as sleep-deprived new parents, the idea of getting up 5x a night to nurse a baby for 20-60 min, then finagle her into a crib, (start again if she wakes!) and then repeat it all 30 min later seemed ludicrous. We also had a newborn that refused to sleep for longer than 10 min unless she was nestled against another warm body. So out of desperation, and then choice, we co-sleep... but that story is for another post!

How to survive a beach outing

Day 3.

Unfortunately, it really is Monday this time. Also, I have a sneaking suspicion my hour is going to become two, 0.5 hours. Or more likely, 10 min and the rest whenever I can find it... a toddler stirs.

Yesterday we did make it to the beach as planned, the parking gods even smiled upon us.

When I was pregnant we came to the beach nearly every weekend. "Glowing" (sweaty), giddy parents-to-be, B and I would gaze at budding architects constructing lopsided sand castles and little ones squealing in the crashing waves, marveling that soon, we would get to create blissful beach memories with our children.

Fortunately, like her self-professed water-baby parents, T loooooooooves the beach. With my island heritage, the grandparents' proximity of two blocks to a (much colder) ocean and our current home, which boasts beach-worthy (mostly swim worthy) days 365 days a year, our offspring will undoubtably have childhoods spent in the sun, sand and surf.

I think I just forgot what came along with the squealing wave jumping and quiet sandcastle construction...

Our days go something like this: after carting all our "necessary" beach belongings across Coronado's wide swath of white sand at T's starfish-like pace we finally pitch ourselves in front of the small morning waves betting on an ebbing tide.

1. Parents pitch umbrella and spread out blanket carefully so as to not invite sand. Place shoes to keep blanket from blowing up.
2. 2 yr. old runs onto blanket, prancing feet catch the edges and scrunch a rectangle into an ameoba-like blob. Small shoe-shaped cakes of sand trail across the remaining spread.
3. Mom and Dad shake out blanket. Repeat #1.
4. 2 yr. old returns. Repeat #2. Parents accept sandy, scrunched blanket.
5. 2 yr. old's clothes are removed for sunscreen application and bathing suit change.
6. 2 yr. old feels first smears of sunscreen applied to shoulders and streaks naked towards the ocean.
7. Mother chases 2 yr old. Sunscreen application is resumed, amidst protest.
8. 2 yr old, dutifully covered in sunscreen, places hands in sand. Realizes hands are now sandy. Asks parents to wash them with water. Parents oblige.
9. Repeat #8 for the rest of the morning (intersperse with "patient" explanations by parents of laws of sand + water physics to 2 yr old.)
10. Spend lovely hour collecting stranded sand dollars with 2 yr old and tossing them back in the sea.
11. Try not to act dismayed when 2 yr old accidentally crushes live sand dollars in her excitement.
12. Wind picks up. Blanket becomes covered, food becomes gritty and sunscreen-covered 2 yr. old becomes coated in the consistency of gooey sandpaper.
13. 2 yr old tries to rub sand out of eyes. Sand becomes embedded in eyes, caked in eyebrows, streaked across hair, cheeks and forehead, clings to lips and corners of mouth. All efforts to remove sand are futile.
14. Parents take now naked 2 yr old into surf to wash off. Giggles of glee ensue, as long as face-washing is avoided (that is wisely left to the freshwater shower by the bathrooms).
15. Stuff is packed, 2 yr old is carried for expediency and family moves for after-beach ice coffees and chocolate milk at nearby outdoor cafe.

Ah, yet another successful beach outing.