Poor Sam – he’s not doing well. He’s got a yucky cold. And I say yucky because he gets those gross colds, with snot every where and so much congestion that it’s hard to understand what he’s saying. Jess has never really gotten colds like that, she’s my ear infection girl… but poor Sam. And it’s just making him miserably unhappy. The only thing that appears to bring him any real joy is chasing Jess with his hammer and hitting her. Which is unfortunate for him, because Jessie has displayed a marked dislike for this activity.
Which means he falls back to his end all, be all – the magic OOBIE. First, let me just state officially for the record that this was not the name that I chose. I think Jess came up with it – and Sam just inherited it. And at almost thirty months, I’m tired of nursing. Tired of having it be the fix it for every situation, tired of wearing clothes that I can easily nurse in, tired, tired, tired of it. Weaning is not going well – there’s a lot of him chasing me around the house, crying and begging for it. Sam was a great nurser from the beginning – he latched on immediately, and without it, I don’t think I would have survived the first six months of his life. Between colic and reflux – I think he learned early that the only thing that made life bearable was easy and immediate access to my breasts – and has never really moved on from that belief.
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