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Browsing Tag: beer

Keep It Down, Will You?

We were packing Saturday morning, late as usual.  I was just getting snacks ready for the car (for a trip that was just over two hours, but you know when you have little ones you need to travel armed and ready and up to your ears in straw cups and tiny containers filled with crackers), and explaining to Saoirse again that we were meeting up with her grandmother and uncle at another aunt and uncle’s house, and that she and Quinn would be spending the evening with her Aunt Mary and Gram while her dad and I went to a football game with some other family members. “But, Mom,” she said, “I don’t want you to leave me.  I’m going to miss you.” I told her that I’d miss her, too, but that we would really only be gone a few hours after her bedtime, and that we’d be there when she woke up in the morning.  So, off we went, to southern Maryland, home of Andrews Air Force base and old plantation houses and, of course, FedEx Field, where our beloved Fighting Irish were beating…

Excuse Me While I Weep Into My Freedom

This afternoon I put Quinn down for her nap after lunch. What’s the big deal, you ask? Well, friend, I didn’t nurse her first. Just lunch, books, nap.  Again, you inquire: so why all your wailing and gnashing of teeth? Because, silly. I’m weaning her from the great milk factory known as my bosoms.  It’s a moment to which I’ve been looking forward for at least six months.  It’s a time that I’ve imagined as somewhere, out on the horizon–a beautiful sunset that I can see, but not quite touch. And it’s here. It’s finally here. My daughter now longer needs me as her primary source of nutrition, and I am free. So, of course I want to cry. I’m a year-and-done kind of breastfeeder. I nurse instead of giving formula, because that’s what works for us, and I’m lucky enough to be able to do it. But once I get the okay to introduce milk to the wee one, man, I’m outta there.  No extended breastfeeding for me, no…