Image (modified): Cedar Summit Farm
I don’t smoke or drink. My boyfriend smokes though, and I’ve tried many times to convince him to quit, all in vain. I can’t really understand why someone would smoke, but I’ve never really had an addiction, so I can’t presume to understand what it’s like.
Our daughter, unfortunately, has an addiction of her own: breastmilk.
She wants it when she wants it, morning, noon and night. She wants it when she’s frustrated, when she’s tired, when she’s happy and when she’s well-rested.
On the one hand, I’m totally flattered: my milk must be for Skyler what a Starbucks mocha frappuccino is for me. And to be honest, if I had 24/7 access to those babies, I’d also latch on and never let go. On the other hand, it is somewhat tiring to constantly interrupt every activity so she can get her milk fix.
Aside from the first few weeks after we came home from the hospital, when nursing felt like I was being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles, I’ve really enjoyed it. I love cuddling with her and having that special time, just the two of us. But it’s just gotten out of hand.
“This is probably just a phase,” I told my boyfriend, as I lifted up my shirt for the 20th time at 9 in the morning. And that was months ago.
Our schedule in the morning goes something like this:
- Wake up
- Change diaper and clothes
- Go find the dog to say good morning
- Nurse while saying good morning to the dog
- Go to the kitchen for breakfast
- Eat breakfast while nursing in between bites
- Finish breakfast
- Nurse while playing
She’s not quite talking yet, but I almost expect her first words to be something like “My name is Skyler and I’m addicted to milk.”
It’s not clear whether it’s an unquenchable thirst thing, or if she’s slowly getting more independent and it’s a comfort thing. Whatever it is, it’s out of control.
That being said, I’m not wishing it away. I’m going to enjoy it, because she’s only this little once, and time is already moving too fast.
So with that, my daughter, I say “Drink up!”
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