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12:14 AM.
I hear the familiar cry of my 17 month old from the room next door.
We have never been the CIO type and would much rather deal with the effects of night upon night of sleep deprivation, instead.
We are unsuccessfully trying to night wean so I poke my husband and tell him that he's on duty.
I hear the door slowly open and, during that moment, B is quiet.
As soon as Daddy pokes his head in and B realizes that it is Daddy with a cup of water and not Mommy with her magical boobies...
I wait for the crescendo...
"Mommy...Mommy...Mommy...GLEE*! GLEE! GLEE! WAAAAAAH!" he screams louder and louder.
*Glee=breastmilk/nursing in B (language). Such a long story.
Daddy tries his best at rocking, soothing, and providing a drink of water, but with no luck.
Tired and defeated, my husband puts B back into his bed (who at this point is angry and agitated) and passes me the baton.
I enter the room and immediately the crying ceases. The pass* gets thrown on the floor. The arms raise for me to pick him up.
"GLEE!" he promptly states.
*Pass=pacifier in B (language)
We sit in the rocker and I cradle him in my arms. He quickly relaxes and starts his usual nursing behaviors (trying to pull out my nursing pad, rubbing/squeezing my arms, scratching my chest, etc.).
When done on the right side he pops off and says,
"GLEE?" even though he knows that it is time for a diaper change first.
Diaper change completed. Back to the chair for part deux of our midnight nursing sesh.
All done. Back into bed. Kiss from Mommy, check. Doggy, check. Monkey, check. Blankie, check.
Magical boobies... your
never-ending nightly job is complete.