I started to pay a bit of attention to Rohan, reading him one of his all time favourite books (the Lorax, my little environmentalist), when Avery, in usually form, decides that this extra attention to his brother is absolutely unacceptable. After a bought of stream rolling us he decided that the only other option to take my full attention would be to nurse yet again.
Now, don't get me wrong here, I still very much enjoy our nursing/cuddle time. Even though he pinches and punches me. Even though I have to press my arm firmly against the unnursed teat to prevent him from sliding his hand up/down my shirt and kneading the other breast or, gag, trying to tweak the nipple. Uggh. But I refuse to nurse him on the same kind of regular basis that he required as an infant. Besides the fact that he really does not need it to keep him alive and that the more he nurses, the more I produce, I just want my boobies to myself for a while!
So anyway, back to the story. Avery started aggressively signing milk in my face and contorting himself into the most optimal nursing position. I told him in no uncertain terms that we were all done and that there was none left. Well I don't know if he woke up on the wrong side of the bed that fateful morning, but he started getting pretty mad at me. Well actually, not so much me as my unavailable mammories. He shoved his face right up close to my sacks of liquid gold and yelled at them as if he were telling them the whats what of his nursing desire.
Hilarious. His face right up to them screaming at the top of his lungs. I think he even gave them a couple of closed fist punches he was so mad. Oh man, if I was a tougher mom than I am, and not totally amused and smitten by his temper, I would probably be attempting the weaning process about now.
Nope. Not me. Onward in the world of jug reduction!
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