Boy wants a bra

Picking up my bra from where it sat on the toilet, my son asked with a smile, "Do you have no more milk?"
I continued drying off from my shower. "Nope. No more milk."
This prompted him to come out with yet another utterance of his new favorite word: "Why?"
"Because you're growing up."
"I want you to have a baby so you can make more milk," he suggested.
This is the second or third time he's said I should have a baby. Don't jump the gun, little boy. We're not quite there yet... As a reminder, he said with a glint in his eye and a giggle in his throat, "Can I nurse?" I returned the laugh in my "No, you don't nurse anymore," given with a hug.
Then he asked, "Do I not have breast-es?"
"Just small ones."
"Why?"
I generally feel like he doesn't need a scientific explanation for anything, but just saying "hmm..." or "I don't know" or "what do you think?" doesn't always satisfy. If I answer something right away then I avoid a continual string of "whys." Sometimes I just say "because you don't." This time I explained, "Well, you're just a little boy."
He countered that he was a big boy. Then he held the bra up to himself and asked, "Can I not wear this because I just have little breast-es?"
What response could I possibly offer, besides a laugh?

Simple can feel good

This moving thing is really something. I mean, it's got my husband and me both reminiscing and nostalgic and, at other times, at each other's throats for all the things that have always rubbed us the wrong way about one another (or that have since we've become parents).

My husband's big complaint is that I am a material girl; no, I don't wear the latest fashions or anything, but I amass stuff, especially in the form of information (books, magazines, newspaper clippings), holistic health supports (an infrared sauna, a chi machine, essential oils, supplements, books, magazines) and kitchen gadgets (two flour sifters I've never used, a small Cuisinart I've never used and a Vita-Mix. At least I Freecycled the bigger, decade-old Cuisinart this week!)

Anyway, one night I shouted to him: "I am not simple! I will never be simple! I do not want to be!" I was trying to proudly claim my inner Renaissance woman, my full-of-passions self, the mama who will never sleep her life away!

And yet, now that there is a lot of stuff out of the house, I have to admit it feels pretty good. I feel lighter. The place seems more spacious. Maybe if I were simple we could make it work to stay here. But, remember, I am not. And we do have a three-year-old who someday will want to play with his toys in the living room again.

And his mom wouldn't want to think I had forever parted ways with lots of my things. They are just waiting for us in the neighbor's basement, hibernating through this spring of (we hope!) lots of traffic through our home, waiting until we set up camp in the new place and can give them new homes with more space in between.

Publish Post

I hope it feels like more space to the extent that I am envisioning. I'm sure that moving won't magically have me getting up at 5:30 a.m. to do yoga just because I have a place to write and set my bills. But a girl can hope, right?

No More Milk

It's official. I'm all dried up. We've been weaned for almost three weeks. The other day I knew my son was totally okay with it when he gave me that twinkly smile as he tried to put his hand down my shirt and said, "Is there no more milk in your breast-es?"

"Nope!" I replied. "It's all gone. And you're a big boy."

But I didn't know for sure. After a shower later that day, I looked down to my now-mottled, no-longer-mouthed-and-red nipples. And I squeezed.

I was almost scared that I would still squirt, that my body would hint it wasn't done, even though I know we stopped at the right time. But nada. Just me. No leche.

This bar is officially closed.

Yoga challenge: don't think beyond my limbs

"Fall in love with my body." That was the second thing that came into my head when the yoga teacher suggested, "Now take a moment to set an intention for your practice." The first thing was just to stay with my body -- to pay attention to it rather than use the time it was doing stuff to let my head float separately and plan out my day, an email, the order of errands.

But I could not ignore the little voice that told me to fall in love with my muscles and tissues. Quelle intention! Where the hell did that come from? Maybe if I were still taking seminars with Landmark Education, it would be the kind of thing I'd say all the time. But I'm not, and I'm still trying to figure out my relationship with my 3-years postpartum and post c-section and 2 weeks post-weaning body. (See more on my bra dilemma soon at DC Metro Moms). The intention seemed more than ambitious, but also just right.

So I didn't push away the idea and just it settle in. What would it mean to fall in love with my body doing yoga? I'd admire length, feel empathy for tightness and hope my breath would help me to loosen. I'd be gentle but also a cheerleader. I'd care about every little thing and think it all kicked ass.

It was only an hour class. We can't expect miracles. But I tried it on for size and enjoyed myself. It also helped that after class I found out that in my first few days of a small detox like I did last year, I've already lost two pounds (hint: cut out sugar and all carbs, use a lot of lemon and live, bitter foods). But then my tummy got a little tender, and I almost went back to a place of frustration until I realized this is probably my new typical pre-period discomfort.

I was obsessed about the fact that I didn't get my period back until my son was 29 months old, but now I realize that I've been paying little attention my cycle. I finally looked for my planner to consult my Everwoman's Very Personal Planner (on sale at Glad Rags and Jade and Pearl; I got mine via the Frontier Coop) and realized that I'm about 12 days or so after ovulation, so I should start my period in the next few days. And I had to count to see that this will actually be my eighth in a row. That's a good long period of time to have something that looks like fertility.

We are in the midst of a house move and I'm hoping to detox before trying to conceive, so I have a while yet to practice falling in love with my body. I've spent so long just trying not to be disappointed with it, but that's not very inspiring if you're talking about a relationship with a partner. We all probably say, "I'm trying not to be disappointed with my husband," but who wants that to be their 24/7 m.o? What a revolution in my mind to want to fall in love with my husband and with myself all the time!

I'm sure we'll all continue to have our tiffs, but I'm going to try to go with the sexy spring fever and feel the love.

A kitchen with a view

We are hoping to move to a bigger home very near our house. We will lose some of our back yard, probably some gardening sun, and our super-social corner placement. My son loves watching the school buses come up the hill behind our house and the neighbors walk their kids to school, but I am hoping he'll come to love watching wildlife outside in the woods behind the new place. I don't know if the squirrels are as active over there or if the neighborhood cats stroll through the other yard like they do at our place. But I hear a fox makes regular visits. And in any case, I'm pretty psyched about the view from the kitchen sink.