Booby Juice

A Seinfeld Moment

I was at the gym today on the bike and there was a woman one bike away from me vigorously peddling while reading the Sunday Times.  As she finished with each section of the paper, she placed it on the bike between us, which happened to be out of order.

When she was finished with her ride, she got off the bike and walked away, not wiping it down or taking her paper with her.

As my mind was mulling over whether to confront the woman, tell the front desk or simply do nothing, a man sat down on the bike in question.  Which then added another complexity to my internal debate -- do I tell the man that he is sitting on a soiled bike?

After all was said and done, the concentration and energy I needed to channel in order to finish my workout resulted in all else escaping my thoughts until I was at home and in the shower.

Who wants to use equipment that hasn't been wiped down or see someone's garbage left lying around?  So, what would you have done?

The Final Countdown

Justin is now 17 months and 11 days old.  And I am still nursing.  And I don't feel bad about it one bit. I still love breastfeeding, albeit Justin only nurses once a day.  Okay, sometimes twice or three times a day on the week-ends, but Monday through Friday it's strictly once a day first thing in the morning!  And Justin still loves the boo-baas, as he has come to call my oobies.  Which is going to make next week all the harder....for both of us.

I will be away for 4 days at a conference, so I have decided that my time away will be the perfect opportunity to wean Justin once and for all.  I don't have a specific reason for weaning while I am away other than I just feel like it's the right time to do it.

So every second that Justin is on the boo-baas presents itself as a second for me to cherish.  To remember his time as a baby.  To remember the intimacy breastfeeding creates between mom and baby.  To remember how fortunate I am to have been able to give this gift to both my baby and to myself.  To remember that this is most likely the last baby, and the last time, I will be breastfeeding.

Bearer of presents and producer of boobyjuice

So it seems that 5:30 pm at my house is like the calm before the storm.  Of course, I myself don't get to actually witness much of the calm, because when I walk through the door at 5:31 pm, all hell breaks loose.

Generally, when I turn onto my street, my family appears to be the idyllic suburban family:  Husband is pushing both boys on the swing set, I stop the car, roll down the windows and am greeted with shrieks of, "Mommy's home, Mommy's home!"  Husband plops both boys in the front seat for their special, "long" journey up the driveway.  We all hop out of the car and then it starts....

Lucas:  Mommy, do you have a special present for me?

Me:  No, Lucas I don't, unless you consider the uneaten half of my egg salad sandwich a special present.

Lucas:  Check.

Me:  Lucas, I think I would know if I had a present in my bag.

Lucas:  (becoming increasingly impatient) CHECK!

Me:  (peering into my purse) Nope, no presents.

Lucas:  (whining and crying) I want a present!

Me:  Lucas, isn't my presence at the end of a long day a present enough?

Lucas obviously doesn't pick up on my sarcasm and goes screaming into the den where he throws himself in dramatic fashion face down on the couch, "crying."  All of this because a couple weeks ago I made the mistake of picking up a truck from the drug store when I was buying Husband some deodorant.

By this time, Justin is nipping at my feet, arms stretched upward, grunts punctuated with heavy breathing, and all I want to do is go to the bathroom and pee, because no matter if the last thing I do before I leave my office is pee, it's always the first thing I have to do when I walk through my door.

As I sit on the toilet, Justin becomes increasingly exacerbated that I have seemingly ignored his pleas and he begins to cry while tugging furiously at my shirt.  To be fair, the tugging at my shirt just started at the end of last week as he is suffering through the final phase of teething -- the cutting of his molars -- which has left him miserable at best and inconsolable at worst. 

Husband comes to my rescue so I can wipe, picking up a red-faced hysterical Justin.  As Husband stands in the bathroom doorway, a screaming toddler in his hands and a screaming preschooler in the next room, he questions how everything can go downhill so rapidly when the "Bearer of presents and Producer of Boobyjuice arrives home."

As I dream about the quiet of my office, I wonder the same thing!