Sometimes Love Hurts

Milo is loving life right now (well, except for yesterday- but that's another post). If I were to list his current "hobbies," they would include: pinching (he's perfecting that pincer grip and especially enjoys using it on the tender, meaty parts of the backs of my arms), pterodactyl-like screeching, drooling, gnawing, the tummy twist-and-shimmy (a Milo original) and army-crawling whilst attempting to pull random, inanimate objects off of table tops and dressers by their cords. (He's gonna be the popular one at the playground, no?)

I'm also starting to believe that he's enjoying kicking my @$$. I'm not just referring to his 3 hour schedule during the day or the fact that he's been waking up a few times a night for the past 2 weeks due to teething (he finally popped his bottom two teeth a few days ago! Yay? Maybe?) The sleep deprivation kicks my butt too, but in a different way. As I just alluded, we've recently entered what I like to call the "happy-slapping" phase. It's cute, and I'll take it because I know all too well that this eventually segues into the "Eff-off, Mom, I Can Do It MYSELF" terrible two's slapping phase. But while I can tolerate the quasi-coordinated flailing of limbs, I gotta say- kid can pack some punch! At a healthy 20 pounds (and some change) at 6 1/2 months, I guess that's to be expected. I'm still nursing him several times a day and although I love bonding with my baby boy, I gotta admit I'm looking a little rough around the edges: I have bruises on my triceps and my forearms, scratches under my nose and on my cheeks and claw marks across my chest. On several occasions, I've had tufts of hair pulled out by the roots. Then the other day, I learned- in the most painful way- that I can no longer wear my dangly earrings (I'm not even sure what I was thinking by wearing them to begin with). I'm also pretty sure that "the girls" will never forgive me for continually subjecting them to "the piranha." Matter of fact, Jake may not forgive me for subjecting them to him either. It's never usually a good sign when your husband walks in while you're undressing and asks (in reference to your parts), "is that, um, normal?" (What- the fact that they're hanging down to my belly-button and are the color of heirloom tomatoes? What's not normal about that??)

Alas, I know this is a season- a relatively short one, at that. So what if he causes me to wince every now and then? When it comes down to it, I guess love just plain hurts sometimes. :) (I think I'd take the physical pain over the other kind ANY day). My boy is loving me the only way he knows how. In the meantime, I'm going to try to figure out how to wear some protective gear during our nursing sessions that won't end up sending him into therapy 15 years from now....