He’s 13 months old. He nurses less and less. He would drink more if I let him, but today he just nursed before bed. I stopped pumping right after his first birthday. He kept breastfeeding each day before naps and bed, but we’re doing it less. His big sister stopped at 13 months. I remember being a little sad, but I was okay. Time marched on. I would have another baby. No biggie. It was actually nice to have my body be my own again.

This time I’m sad.

This might be my last baby. All the infant milestones have been a little more bittersweet with the second baby, but this one hurts.

What if this is the last time I ever nurse one of my babies? This might be it. It may be over. I may never be pregnant again. I may never snuggle my sleepy newborn or snuggle my round little infant as they suckle.

If I stop nursing him, will he still want to snuggle with me? Maybe. Maybe not. Everyday I steal kisses and snuggles in “catch and release” style as he wobbles toward toddlerhood.

Part of me is ready to be done breastfeeding. He has a mouth full of teeth and vigorous kicking legs. But, the other part of me looks into his eyes that are turning a darker shade of blue into the green of my own and I want to hold him tighter. I cradle a baby that is (kind of) calm when he nurses. He smiles with coos and grunts that make us both giggle. Those times are ours alone, and they are numbered.

I don’t know when the last time I nurse him will be. I don’t remember the exact last time with my daughter. I just know it’s coming soon.

Instead of mourning the time gone, I’m trying to be thankful for being able to successfully breastfeed two healthy babies. I know not all mothers get that. I’m thankful that breastfeeding was a mostly positive experience for me.

This just marks the end of infancy. I am excited for what is to come. I am. I’m just bracing my heart for more milestones that may be a little bittersweet.

Alright. I’m bucking up. I’m looking into their little faces and being excited and thankful. I can do this. It’s almost time for the last time, and that’s okay. Writing this makes me feel better. Time marches on. Ah, motherhood! It is bittersweet.

I’ve made it no secret how I most often express myself. No, not just the emotional vomit I spew on this blog, but how I express breast milk. I do it in the car. Almost always. I like to call it “Vehicular Milk Expression.” When I was working full-time after my first child, I would pump in the wee hours of the morning so a fresh bottle would be ready for my husband to give the baby while I was on TV reporting the morning news.

I pumped in the news live truck when my photographer was elsewhere. I pumped in my news car in the parking lot of some place while making calls for interviews. I got so good at it I pumped while driving. Even when I wasn’t working I was driving down the road and pumping.

Now that I am home with Baby #2 I find myself on the road toting us around our fair city and find that once again, it’s just easiest to do it in the car. Even if my husband is driving, I’ll be in the passenger seat pumping and putting on makeup. After getting everyone else ready to go somewhere, it’s the only place to get it done and still get somewhere on timeish. Sometimes when he’s driving and notices someone looking at me funny he  says, “Woman! Cover up!” I snort and reply, “Baby’s gotta eat.” Usually my shirt is covering up the goods. It does make me chuckle to think of the fine member of law enforcement who would have the distinction of pulling me over mid-expression. Hey, I’ve said it before, “Baby’s gotta eat.”

So, I get the question all the time, “How do you do it?” I’m glad you asked! Vehicular Milk Expression requires proper equipment. Here’s what you need:

1. A pump: Obviously.

2. A hands-free pumping bra: Keep your hands on the wheel, ladies! Safety first! And yes, it will get milk stains like mine. Sorry. You should know.

3. Bottles: You need pump bottles, but don’t forget a bottle to empty your milk into! I speak from experience. Your baby will need to actually drink this milk.

4. A nursing cover: If you wish. A shirt, jacket/blazer, towel or blanket also works. The cover helps you be hands-free.

5. An AC Adaptor: When I kept running out of batteries I got one of these from Radio Shack, I think. Are there still Radio Shacks? I dunno. Anyway, it plugs into the cigarette lighter in your car. So, when you’re done smoking, you can pump. (I’m kidding. Cigarettes kill, ya’ll.)

Not Pictured: Pump wipes. They are helpful if you are big on cleaning your pump parts. (I’m not.) When I was working, they were a necessity. Batteries if you don’t use the plug.

I hope this helps explain how I express myself! Remember girls, no matter where you have to go, “baby’s gotta eat!”

I was back at the doctor’s office this week. Fever, aches, exhaustion. Oh, and a red and swollen boob. It was mastitis for the second time since Henry was born. Needless to say I felt awful when I was in line to check out after the OB/GYN explained that you can get it when your baby is 6 months old, not just when they’re newborns. I was miffed because this bout of mastitis could be because my little biter has teeth now and it could be injuring my nipples enough to cause an infection. I didn’t want to complain about him sleeping through the night more often, but good Lord I’m getting backed up! Yeah, that could be a contributing factor as well.

My little biter with a booger in his nose. Cute, though.

So, you can imagine my mood as I stood with Henry in the stroller in this line, preparing to cough up a copay. In front of me a little girl of about four came darting between her pregnant mom and her dad. With unbridled enthusiasm and a sparkly Dora The Explorer shirt she squealed over Henry and reached into his stroller with her grubby little hands to poke him. Her parents pleaded with her to stop touching my baby. In my head I silently pleaded with Henry, “Bite her! I know you can do it. My nipples are proof!”

Henry did not bite her. He was darling and smiley like he most often is. The girl’s dad continued to tell her to keep her hands off Henry. The little girl explained she was getting a baby sister as she pointed at her mom’s belly. The dad soon became entranced with my child, as I assume everyone does. It’s what he said next that shocked me. He looked at my son and said in a baby voice, “I wish we could trade! Your mom probably wouldn’t like that, but I want to trade!”

What?!

I thought it might be the fever  messing with my hearing, but no. This jerk just said in front of his daughter that he wanted to trade children with me. In jest or not, that is totally wrong. I wanted to grab his sweet, well-meaning daughter, even with her grubby hands and tell her she is loved for who she is.

Maybe it was the boob infection, but I took a look at this idiot and decided it was okay to be wildly bitchy and judgmental. He had on sweat pants, socks with sandals and adult braces. This man’s saving grace has to be his pregnant wife/girlfriend/baby mama. She turned to him as he went on about my son and said, “You’re getting two girls. Get over it!”

Thank God. Good luck, lady. After you straighten his teeth out, get him out of those socks and straighten out his views on having daughters. Oh, and I hope your second baby is not a nipple biter.

I want to drink milkshakes for breakfast and eat ice cream for dinner. Truly. It’s been a lifelong dream of mine. But alas, I want to live a long life.  So, I’ll eat lean protein and fruit for breakfast instead. Oh, and I’m influencing the lives and healthful eating habits of the two little humans I’m raising, so Neapolitan for dinner is out.

I also want to support mom-owned businesses while being healthy. So when Erin from Mommi sent me some samples of the Mommi 3-in-1 shakes I was psyched. Erin likes being healthy too. (Please note the adorableness of her daughter.) She loved protein shakes for breakfast. She got pregnant and noticed none were recommended for the pregnant and breastfeeding ladies.

That’s when she invented Mommi 3-in-1, vanilla and chocolate daily supplement shakes that you mix with milk. Each has 15 grams of whey protein, 100% of the daily recommended prenatal vitamins and 200 mg of DHA in every serving. So, pretty much your prenatal vitamin with DHA with protein in a shake so you get your sweet fix. I can’t wait to try some of these recipes. Dude. The Apple Pie a la Mode? I told ya’ll I love ice cream.

My OB/GYN insists I still take my prenatal vitamins with DHA as a breastfeeding mother. I’ve been drinking shakes before my workouts, so this was perfect for me! Please excuse these photos of me with no makeup. I drank the chocolate for an evening chocolate fix. I blended the vanilla with a banana for a yummy pre-workout breakfast.

Now Mommi is offering a Somebody’s Parent’s reader two weeks worth of shakes and a shaker to drink them up! A random winner will be picked next week! Good luck!

Since being home, my wardrobe has gone to shit. When I was working full-time I may have rocked a low ponytail too often. It did have a side part to look “professional.” Let’s be honest, it was just in a low ponytail because it was dirty, but I was dressed for work. I had on clothes that weren’t yoga pants. Now I frequently squeeze into these spandex running capri things because that’s what the other moms wear when they sweat it out with me and our screaming children in strollers.

So, yesterday I was psyched to wear a dress for the preschool Mother’s Day Tea. I had every intention to dry my hair and wear it down, but the road to low ponytails is paved with good intentions. The first dress I tried on was way too short. I was worried I would flash my vag to the three-year-old’s if I had to sit in those tiny chairs, so I opted for one a little longer. Well, I ended up being a tad too scandalous for the kids, but didn’t know it.

You see, Henry slept through the night Monday night! Woop woop! He has only done that a handful of times. My husband says I rejected his advances when I rolled over in deep, blissful sleep yesterday morning. I have no recollection of this shunning. I slept until 7:00 am! It was glorious and everything I thought it could be. Greyson woke up with Charlotte, so I could sleep. This meant that when I did wake up my boobs were like ZOMG, full of milk! I fed him, dressed the kids and decided on this purple dress.

I packed my pump in the car with everything else to pump while I drive. That’s my thing. Vehicular milk expression. But, I was wearing a dress. Blerg. Well, it was only an hour, forget it. I figured I’d be alright. I didn’t pump. I was a little lopsided since he ate on one side, but I’d be okay. Right?!

The tea was adorable! We got flowers in pots the kids had painted. Oh, God a flower! I kill anything in potting soil. I really hoped to keep this little flower alive.

I got to hear my girl sing her class songs in her pretty dress. I was able to squat down by the tiny tables in a ladylike way to take a selfie.

But again, I suck at selfies. My friend Clare caught me taking forever to take a selfie.

After the tea I got back to the car and something happened that hasn’t happened in MONTHS. My overflowing boobs leaked on my dress. I also forgot my nursing pads/nipple covers so I was straight up nippin’ out of the dress. I was so full my cleavage was busting out of the top. Yep, nips and cleavage at the preschool in the Baptist church.

Then, as if the pump was throwing itself in my face to prove a point, I was forced to slam on breaks leaving the tea. The pump slid and knocked my flowerpot, sending dirt all over the car.

So the preschool tea gave me a physics lesson I already knew. If your boobs are too full, they will overflow. I guess that’s really biology, but you know what I mean. The other biology lesson? If there is a plant, even a precious one given to me by a child, I will kill it. That’ll teach me to try to wear a dress. Today I’m back in my shitty wardrobe.  Spandex with a low ponytail and proud of it!