April has become a little girl, as if overnight. She’s grown about an inch, is stringing sentences together (and is insinuating herself into my lap as I type).”Who is this big girl?” Josh asked when he saw her. People say it all the time, but truly, you can watch kids grow before your eyes.
If asked if she’s a baby, she will now respond, “Nooo…April liddy goil.” She proved this when we were away, happily spending time with my friends, communicating clearly and behaving herself 99% of the time. She’s a people-pleaser, and a clown, and I get teary just thinking about how marvellous she is.
Throughout the trip I reminded her that as soon as we got home there would be no more nursing. “Milk is for babies.” I’m glad I waited until we returned — there is nothing that can knock out an exhausted child like a couple of minutes on the boob. Whether in a restaurant, on a train or at the airport, it repeatedly saved our days and dinner dates.
Once home, I told April that my boobs were broken. No more milk. She gave one a little squeeze and nothing came out. “Boken booboo. No left,” she said, hands up in the air, shrugging her shoulders. St0ry accepted. It is a bit of a lie. There is milk left, which has been causing me great discomfort. The fact that they hurt, however, helps my case. As far as April’s concerned, painful broken boobs makes sense.
“April (h)old it?” Now, she just wants to touch them. Lying down for her nap yesterday, she managed to get her hands into my shirt and fell asleep clutching tight. This morning, she asked to see one and proceeded to sniff it. “Mmm… smell good.” She positively beamed at me. “Other one?” Another sniff. “Smell good.” I can’t help but laugh. However, I will have to cut short the boob-clutching and sniffing. I didn’t wean her only to have her hands constantly down my shirt.
(I still don’t have a cable for my camera, so have been unable to upload the last lot of pictures from the trip. Patience, my dears, they will come soon. )