Sam’s Story: Week 65

A momentous, sad milestone has passed. The kitchen is closed. No more milk on tap. Sam has been weaned from nursing. No more boobie.

Unlike our breast feeding class instructor who was still nursing her oldest child at over forty months, it was always a question of “when” and not “if” to wean Sammy. She’s 15 months old today, and we thought that old enough, given that we had to return the pump ger had been using. Apparently if she starts missing feedings/pumpings, a mother’s body says “Okay, then, I’M SHUTTIN’ THEM DOWN!” so this was as good a time as any. Sam actually made the transition more easily than Geralyn, given that only one of them cried and for once it wasn’t Sam. In fact, at the last morning nursing of her life, Sam seemed to be holding her hand up as if to say “Nah, thanks, I’m done. Is there coffee?”

Funny thing is, while we had built up morning and bedtime routines for Sam’s comfort, the changes resulting from shutting off the taps highlighted how much we had come to value those routines, too. With the nursing thing gone, my evening routine of prepping the nursery and checking my e-mail while Ger put Sam down was obliterated. Instead, I had to give Sam a cup of milk and read her a couple of books. And after that it was supposed to be time alone with Ger. But my e-mail! It was unchecked! I stood quietly outside of the closed door to the nursery for half an hour, wondering what to do. (The answer: Checking my e-mail from my laptop while watching TV with Ger. Hooray technology!)

Not much to report on the developmental front. Sam continues to excel in walking, and has even moved up to moonwalking. I’m continuously amazed at how much language she’s picking up, even if it’s still lopsided on the understanding end more than the expressing end. But one-sided as the conversations are, you can really talk to her and have her understand you as long as you stay away from politics, religion, and bunnies. If you say “Sammy, are you stinky?” she’ll get up, walk over to the base of the stairs, and look up at where the changing table awaits in the nursery. Ask her if she’s tired and she’ll start picking up her toys and putting them away, the beginning of the bath/boobie/bed bedtime routine (now with one less “b”) we started long ago.

The only other noteworthy event this weekend was another attempt at getting Sam’s portrait taken. I’ve written a couple of times before about all the agonizingly bad experiences with the Wal-Mart picture studio we had to got through before realizing that we were trying to use the Wal-Mart picture studio and that this was the natural state of things, like a wild bear stabbing a trout to death with an ice pick. So while we weren’t ready to fork out the cash for a “real” portrait studio, we did dress Sam in her best dress and inch up the hierarchy a bit to the Sears picture studio.

Sam did better this time and didn’t cry, but she was apparently so dumbstruck by three gibbering adults waving toys around in the most idiotic fashion imaginable that she refused to smile. She just sat there like she was watching C-SPAN instead of Sesame Street, despite efforts that would have gotten us tossed in the loony bin in any other context. But we did get pictures, and they should be nice when they arrive.

Speaking of pictures,

I particularly like this shot, as she looks like a complete little hoodlum with the hoodie and the baggy pants. With flowers on them. Well, she looks like a girly hoodlum.