So now it's six months breastfeeding. I made such a hoopla about the five month mark that six months has not been such a big deal. I feel pretty much the same about making the goal. Summer is coming and I have this sly little voice telling me that all of my little tank tops will be much more comfortable and flattering than those moo-moo style, billowing, dead-head smocks (yes...smocks you heard it) that I've been forced to wear.
I have a very selfish desire to just buy some "Enfamil" and ceremoniously hand Seb a bottle to feed little S with. The trouble is he probably wouldn't do it more than once. Then I'd be stuck washing up all those little plastic bottles and rubber nipples every day. And then I won't have the "instant calming devices" on hand...err well CHEST actually, for when I fly back home to Florida to visit my family.
How selfish is THAT? Go on, chastise me but if you'd been living in cavelike conditions for six months you'd feel a need to let loose a little too.
I suppose I'll have to put my dreams of spaghetti straps on hold for a few more months.
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