At dinner last night, Emerson was very insistent that she take a break from eating peas and instead have some nums nums (breast milk). She was strapped into her highchair at the time putting a 3-point harness and tray in between her and a nursing session. But, she didn't want to get out of the chair and give up what was on her plate. She just wanted a boobie juice break.
This happens semi-regularly—Emerson wants to nurse at the most inopportune time. Given I am fully committed to nursing her on demand, I have done some serious acrobatics in order to get her some milk (or comfort) at times. This was one of those times as I was starving myself and needed to finish chowing down my meal in order to get Emerson down to sleep afterwards. So, with one leg still on my chair and one arm still in control of my dinner fork, I bent backwards and sideways allowing my other arm to drape over the back of Emerson's highchair. I shoved tacos into my mouth as Emerson happily sucked down milk. This arrangement was a new one for us both, and Emerson was quite pleased with the service. She had a few peas in one hand and a boob in her mouth. To express her glee, she reached up and began to lovingly caress my face. As I awwwww-ed at her, her caresses slowly grew more aggressive until she was (lightly) slapping me across the cheek as she nursed. Bam. Bam. Bam.
"Emerson, stop slapping your mother!" Alex pleaded. "Now there's something I didn't expect to say in a situation I didn't expect to find myself in." Long pause and stare. "Dinners around here keep getting weirder and weirder."
"I don't know what you mean," I replied.
This is our life.