First, my son clearly says many words including daddy, Arlo, Greta, please, thank you, bear.... know what he calls me? Bob. When he calls out to me, I pretend that he has an eternal cold, and his plugged nose is the only thing standing in the way of a correct "Mom."
So, today was a milestone in Bob-'n-Henry land. I slept on the couch to give sick Jim a little space. Henry woke up when the sun came up (which is also notable after a week of terrible sleep), Jim plucked him from the crib, changed his diaper, and let him loose. We're all organic with our free-range children at Camp Sinki.
And instead of approaching me with his baby bird gaping mouth, ready to nurse, he played with dinosaurs and Mr. Potato Head.
He never asked, and I never offered. Looks like we're weaning (at least from the morning session); which is fine by me. A few months ago, I looked deep into his eyes and realized the magic was gone. He was certainly healthy, and physically developed enough, and he took to cow milk well. He's made nursing into a game, trying to hop from one breast to the other, and then back. Taking a break to tickle his own toes (saying tick-L tick-L aloud) or to kiss my lips or blow raspberries on my belly.
At about 10 this morning, I felt the physical consequence for not nursing this morning. My breasts felt like I had lead in them. I took a pain reliever - yup, it's that uncomfortable.
After dinner, I hit the grocery store and picked up a few things, including cabbage.
Henry took his bath tonight, and nursed before going to bed. Sweet relief.
But I'm still wearing cabbage inside both bra cups as I write. It helps.