Mooooving On

Well, I’m officially no longer a nursing mother. This has brought on waves of relief, sadness and, for some reason, a little bit of guilt. There’s this current among the overeducated, slightly crunchy 35 + mom set which has nursing as a badge of honor, a reflection of one’s commitment to her offspring. I’m always a little intimidated by women who proudly announce that they are nursing their children at 2 and beyond. Of course, I’m absolutely supportive of all that. But I think most of us would agree that 16 months is plenty. And in the end, it was really Coco’s decision. She was, quite simply, over it. We had been gradually transitioning to goat’s milk and then regular old cow’s milk (organic or course) over the last few months until we were finally down to one feed at bedtime. In my mind, it was comforting part of our evening ritual. But I was starting to get the feeling that to my daughter it was just a drill keeping her from her literary pursuits. For the last week or two, every time I’d try to stick her on the boob, she’d just start squirming and hollering “Book! Book!” Time to give it up. And so, having dropped two bra sizes, here I am. Finding myself in a state of mammary independence, I’m envisioning a weeklong orgy of margaritas and americanos. Somehow I don’t think that’s going to happen, but it’s nice to know I could if I really wanted to. Maybe next time I get up to New York…

It’s joyful and unsettling to have a toddler again. The amount cognitive development going on is pretty amazing. Coco seems to learn a couple of new words every day and has an impressive (and expanding) repertoire of animal sounds. She’s crazy about the Old McDonald song (which she calls EiEi). She’s also perfected a very authentic growl, which I think she picked up from one of Henry’s battery operated dinosaur toys. She refers to her faux cellphone as “Hi” and to her purse as “Bye” which strikes me as a perfect distillation of the way of things. Loves the slide at the playground but not a fan of the swings. Oh and she seems to be developing into a serious harmonica player to the delight of her blues-singer father.

My mother recently gave her a second-hand Dora doll, complete with beret and bare midriff. She loves it of course (I think it’s those insane gigantic eyes), but mama’s so not ready for the advent of all the little girl stuff. Totally dreading the onslaught of ponies and princesses. Good lord. Must admit, I’m hoping for a little tomboy in the manner of Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird and am encouraged that she’s into the myriad trains, trucks, tractors etc. one can usually find lying around in our living room.

As I may have mentioned previously, our little Colette has been, until recently, about as low maintenance as a kid could possibly be. Until a month or two ago, I could take her anywhere--to the hair salon, to the doctor/dentist, wherever. I could count on her to keep it mellow. No longer. She has very specific ideas about what she wants to be doing at any given moment and usually sitting still is not on the list. If she’s anything like her brother, she’ll be jumping out of her crib in the near future. Better get the old man to fix the hole in the floor in the corner of her room.