Some of the best conversations happen in the dark while in bed. Don’t you agree? This also applies to toddlers (at least mine).
Last night as I was saying good night to the boys, Max said “You are my mommy”.
“Yes, I am.”
“You are my MaMaMee!” (They used to call me this before they figured out I was Mommy and Chicken was Mama)
“That’s right, I’ll always be your mamamee”
“You have boobies.”
“Yes, yes I do.”
Sebastian pipes up with “You have big ones, but Max and I have
little tiny ones.”
“Yours make mommy milk, but Max and I can’t make mommy milk.”
“That’s true, you do have little boobies, but girls make the mommy milk.”
Max, “Let me try your mommy milk right now!”
I oblige, standing there at the crib looking only slightly different from that very controversial Time magazine cover. He hasn’t even tried to nurse in over a week, but what the hell.
After about 10 seconds he declares there’s only a little bit and I pull my shirt back down.
“I want to be a girl,” he says.
“Why?” I ask.
“So, I can make mommy milk. Then there will be more.”
“Hmm, it would be hard for you to make mommy milk for yourself.”
“You should make more, Mommy.”
“I wish I could, Max. But it doesn’t last forever and it lasted a really long time for you. You were so lucky to have mommy milk as long as you did (2.5 years). I’d have to make a baby to get more mommy milk.”
“Like Neal?” Max asks excitedly, “You could have a baby like his little sister. Then I would have mommy milk again!”
“Ummm, but if I had another baby, the mommy milk would be for the new baby.”
“Mommy, don’t make a baby, ok?” Sebastian pipes up.
“It’s OK Mommy” agreed Max.
Whew, glad that’s settled. No one is pining for an extra little brother or sister over here! We’re done, people, done. The milk shop is out of business. And I’ve got the itty bitty titties to prove it. Such a sad sight these sorry, deflated little balloons on my chest. They did an important job, but the battle scars are severe!