When I was a little girl and I played with my dolls, I imagined the kind of mother I would be.

   
I imagined what I was going to say to my 10 children, until I saw the Miracle of Life.  After viewing that video, my vagina and I decided that two was enough to accommodate.  So then I imagined what I was going to say to my 2 children.  I knew I would never tell my child that when they grew up, their child would be 3 times worse than they were.  When my mom would say this to me, I would think, 1) if you don't like me then get rid of me and 2) I am pretty damned awesome so if my kids are like me, that would be cool.

I never imagined that I would utter these words:
"John, Eat your food"

"or you can't do chemical reactions"

Just doing my part to raise the next generation of nerds.

I went to give John a good night kiss and he rubbed a booger on my lip.  I guess that was his early Mother's Day gift to me.

 

This was John and I on my first Mother's Day.   From cute to boogers in 4 short years.  I am still proud to be his mom. Boogers and all.
 

I am one of those people who co-sleep and nurse their children when they are able to explain to you what mammary glands and milk ducts are, but that is not the point of this story.  we've already established that I resent my son and I am hell bent on ensuring that he has a warped and deprived or depraved childhood.  When John was a baby, he tried to nurse on anything that looked like a boob until he learned to feel to see if there was actually milk in the tit.  We started co-sleeping when John was a baby.  I had absolutely no intentions on co-sleeping with him simply because I thought he wouldn't learn to sleep on his own.  I had an emergency c-section with John.  One day while I was in class, my stitches started to bleed.  A fellow student rushed my to the emergency room and my advisor felt guilty that he had made me come to class.  I am actually glad he made me come, but that is a different story about post-partum depression.  I may actually do a serious and well researched post on that one day.  Anyway, I was told at the ER that I shouldn't be lifting anything.  Not even my wee little nugget John who barely weighed 7 lbs.  Of course this sent my mom into helicopter parent mode.  The only reason I even had to tell her was because I was still not driving at that point.  I wasn't allowed to (stupid hospital post op rules that I should have lost so that my mom couldn't read them) and even if I I didn't have those rules, I was taking Oxycontin.  Oxy made me super smart and talented.  So my husband or somebody, I don't remember picked me up from the ER instead of campus.  I was no longer allowed to walk around carrying John, nor was I allowed to walk up stairs or do anything else a normal person can do (being treated like an invalid was another reason I hated being pregnant).  This began the co-sleeping thing.  I tried to get away with putting John in the crib, but she would sneak into the room that I was sleeping in, and place John back in the bed next to me.  I just gave up.  Eventually, when John was about 5 weeks old, he figured out how to get to the boobs without having to wake me up.  He used to make noise, and I would nurse him.  The first time it happened, I woke up at 5:00 in the morning freaked out because I had missed a few feedings and I hadn't heard him crying.  I knew he was going to die, but then I felt him suckling and the lazy part of me kicked in.   I didn't even have to wake up to feed my child.  Not only, did I not have to get up and warm up a bottle.  I can just lay there and he would be all good.  Nice. This is what made me continue nursing beyond the 6 months I had planned to nurse.  I got to sleep...not mix formula. 

So from the time John was  6 weeks old until he was weaned, John slept from 11:00 PM until 5:00 AM.  His nursing never woke me up.  At 5:00 AM he was up and ready to play.  When he was about 5 months old or so, he discovered that his daddy had nipples, too.    Every morning, I had to prevent John from trying to nurse on his daddy.  I know what he was thinking.  Two boobs are good, but 4 boobs, OMY GOD.  BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS EVERYWHERE.  I would try to explain to him that there was no milk in daddy's breasts.  He would coo. Smile. Say Mama.  He didn't understand a word I said.  He heard boobs, boobs, milk, boobs, boobs, milk, milk, milk.  One day, I woke up too late to prevent what was bound to happen.  I heard John giggling and his daddy talking to him.  Through half open eyes, I see John priming Jim's nipple.  I saw his little mouth latch, and then I saw his smile twist into a look of dismay and horror.
   
I am sure on that day, it was my fault that I hadn't woke up to stop him from doing what he did, but hey, I tried to tell him.  After that, he always checked to see if there was milk.