March 31st, 2010


They're Made of Meat

About when Littlest was 4 months old, i.e. February 2010.

When she wakes me at night, she's not staccato like an alarm clock. She squiggles against my belly, kicking my legs, quietly groping for a breast with her eyes closed, until I'm awake enough to do something about it. I roll onto my side, lift up my pajama top, and help nipple find mouth by the light of the clock radio. She pulls my stripey Dr. Seussian pjs back down around her nose and they smell rich with spilled milk. I usually fall asleep before she's done. Sometimes she does, too, which may be why she's back in an hour or two wanting more. A couple times per week she wakes up hardcore, because of gas or needing to pee (most nights she holds it till morning, then fills a couple diapers back to back, or if I have my act together, pees in the sink). Then I may spend an hour rocking and swaying and bouncing her back to sleep. I wrap my mom's scarf around us and think about how she enjoyed rocking me when I was small. Not so bad. Collapse )