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.

If you’re like me, you live in constant fear of some accident or another injuring your children. My fears range from the typical to the ridiculous. From my kids tripping on the stairs to a helicopter landing on the playground and them being knocked over by high force propeller wind.

Anyway, something happened over our Thanksgiving weekend that brought another danger front-of-mind. We were visiting my grandparents who are in poor health. I walked in and after hugs I quickly swept through the room and put all ceramic grandma trinkets up high enough that little hands couldn’t get them. I forgot one thing.

After getting bored with toys from 30 years ago and not being allowed to play with an iPad, (there is no WiFi anyway) my 4-year-old wandered into the kitchen. My grandparent’s health workers and my aunts keep their medicines in those pill boxes organized Monday through Friday and “Morning, Midday, Evening and Bedtime.” So, there are a lot of pills in there. These boxes are colorful and easy to open for arthritic hands. They also look very neat to little people.

I walked into the kitchen to hear dozens of pills hit the floor. My daughter was standing in a chair by the kitchen table, horrified after she dropped the box. I frantically scooped up my one-year-old off the floor as he tried to crawl to the appealing pills. My husband snagged my daughter who was near tears. She looked at us and said, “I thought it was a puzzle! I’m sorry!”

It is a puzzle of sorts since my mom and my aunt had to sort out all the meds again. I’m not trying to be preachy, just remember this holiday season when you’re visiting relatives, watch out for medicine containers that look like toys and pills that look like candy.

Also, put Poison Control in your phone. Our pediatrician said you are most likely to have poison related accidents when you are away from home, like at your grandparents’. Let me know of other hazards you’ve run into, or you have tips for keeping kiddos safe, especially at the holidays. Have a happy and safe season, everyone!

A detailed how-to for a Haunted Gingerbread House. Happy October!

1. Buy a kit at Trader Joe’s because only Pinterest show-offs actually bake their own.

2. Drive to preschool to pick up child with grandiose ideas of quality time after the baby goes down for a nap.

3. Get home after hanging out on the playground for a little too long with groceries in the car.

4. Put the sleeping baby down for a nap.

5. Bring in groceries after preschooler discovers the box in the grocery bags.

6. Tell her not to touch it when you see her trying to open it.

7. Try to distract her as you hurriedly put away any frozen or refrigerated items.

8. Open the box at the kitchen table and tell her not to touch the candy package she’s already managed to open.

9. Brew a cup of coffee so you don’t need a nap later.

10. Curse  under your breath when the doorbell rings, the dog barks and you hear the baby stir.

11. Go to the door to find the guy from the tree removal company. Realize your husband set up  an appointment for an estimate that he didn’t tell you anything about.

12. Check your shirt to see that your boobs have not leaked on your shirt after hearing the baby cry.

13. Try to remember which trees husband wants removed from the yard and tell the tree guy.

14. Yell to preschooler to not eat the candy.

15. Come back to the table to read directions while quickly eating a bowl of Pumpkin O’s, remembering that you did not eat lunch. Recall that Trader Joe’s is proof you can make anything pumpkin spiced.

16. Make a mental note of your weakness for pumpkin spiced anything and shop with someone who will stop you from buying things like Pumpkin O’s.

17. Follow directions on the box for how to use the icing packets, realizing the kit uses black and orange icing and nothing good ever comes of black icing.

18. Let preschooler hold your hand as you pipe icing on the designated grooves.

19. Smile as you listen to preschooler giggle.

20. Giggle to yourself when you read the word “erect” in the instructions.

21. Pretend not to see preschooler sneaking candy as you try to mimic the wildly unrealistic design on the box.

22. Allow preschooler to decorate the black cat and pumpkin included in the kit as she sees fit.

23. After decorating the sides and roof of the house, notice that preschooler is getting bored of this activity and just wants to eat icing.

24. Allow preschooler to view herself in the mirror to bask in her icing glory.

25. Help child wash up.

26. Negotiate the amount of candy you will allow child to consume and encourage her to put it on the house to “make it pretty.”

27. Kick yourself for allowing that amount of sugar before “nap time” or “quiet time.”

28. Set finished product out on the counter before spouse arrives home.

29. Look for receipt in anticipation that spouse will ask how much the project cost.

31. Take child upstairs for quiet time.

32. Marvel that there is no black or orange icing on your white shirt.

33. Finish coffee and ignore sugared-up child’s noises coming from their room.

34. Smile, realizing you had a lot of fun. Smile again, hoping she’ll remember that her mama made a Halloween gingerbread house with her and let her smear black icing on her face.

35. Repeat in December with Christmas-themed kit.

The past few days I’ve only wanted to spend my time with the women in the Litchfield Women’s Correctional Facility in New York. You know, the new season of “Orange Is The New Black” premiered on Netflix after a long wait. We got together with a group of our best friends to listen to a little Regina Spektor and catch up with Chapman and company this weekend. We admonished one couple for being the traitorous assholes who watched ahead an episode. If you’re not watching this show, start from the beginning and watch. It’s fantastic and lives up to it’s critical accolades.

We joked around and said which character each of our friends are. You would think that I would be Alex Vause. Tall, dark hair, big boobs and dark rimmed glasses. Obvious, right? No. My friend Sam said it best. She looked at me and said, “Amy, you’re Piper Chapman. You think you’re too pretty to go to prison.” I said, “Oh, I know I’m too pretty to go to prison!”

Let’s be clear. I would never get into a salacious love affair with an international drug trafficker like Chapman did. I would listen to my attorney’s advice and never lie under oath, that’s for sure. However, like Chapman, I would ask my husband to keep my blog updated while I’m locked up and I would read up on prison life before turning myself over.

mrgolightly.tumblr.com

piperchapman.tumblr.com

Seriously. I don’t think I’d make it in prison. Since watching the HBO series “OZ” during the height of its popularity I am convinced we are all one bad decision away from being locked up. I think any teens needing to be scared straight should be forced to watch “OZ.” As a teen I tried to steal one time just to see what it was like. I took a pack of gum from a hotel gift shop while on an overnight trip with my church youth choir. I got 100 feet into the lobby and felt so guilty I turned around and told the clerk I accidentally walked out, forgetting it was in my hand. I paid the $1.50 and vowed never to try to steal anything again. The only rush I ever got from shoplifting was rushing back to pay for something out of guilt. Clearly I never needed to be scared straight.

It’s no surprise that the story lines in “Orange Is The New Black” that have stuck with me at this time in my life are the ones about the mothers. Seeing the pregnant woman come back to prison with empty arms after delivering her baby was awful. I look at my babies’ faces and think what it would be like if I didn’t see them everyday because I was behind bars. I realized millions of families around our nation deal with that daily.

You could say that I drive safer, and continue to live right so I don’t become even more like Chapman. Now I have to run and go pick up my child from school on time. I can’t even handle being admonished by the preschool teachers, imagine how I would handle prison guards.

I definitely feel I am devoting most of my time to my family, now. (That’s a nicer way of saying I just use the hashtag #SAHM.) But, I have a confession. One member of our household is neglected.

Poor Ginger. She used to be head bitch around here.

Ginger protecting Baby Charlotte in 2011.

We got Ginger Christmas 2005 as newlyweds. She was our original baby. We doted on, worried about and basically fell all over ourselves for this dog. A rescue group found her on the side of the road. You would never know it after she came to live with us. She was spoiled rotten. She found us. She found the biggest suckers she could find to buy her designer dog food and pick up her poop.

We were good dog owners, but nothing like my friend Trish. Trish is an all around better person than you and me. Seriously. She’s a nurse who helps operate on people. That alone gets you into heaven, but she also volunteers for a pet rescue group and is often a foster mom for dogs before they are adopted. Ginger would probably rather have her for a mom than me.

Sadly, Ginger didn’t get as many snuggles, walks and pets after Charlotte was born. Now that Henry is here? Psh! I feel like she’s downright ignored among the chaos some days. The worst was about a month ago. I feel so guilty about this, it’s taken a month to write this confession.

At the risk of sounding like the cheesy start of a suspense novel, it was a cold and rainy night. It was about 3:00 am. I was expecting to be woken up by the cries of a little milk lover in need of my boobs, but it was a different sound. It was a tapping and scraping. I felt like I was still dreaming when Greyson sat up and said, “Is the dog still outside?!” “The sound was Ginger jumping and scratching the front door. We both jumped up and ran downstairs. Every step I thought, “Oh, God! Poor baby! What have I done!? I left her in the rain! I am a horrible person!”

Her collar and harness were missing. That means she got herself caught on a tree or bush while attached to her long tether. We put her out there and let her enjoy our large yard. She loves it. Ginger can now get out of the collar and harness if it gets caught on something. It’s doggy contortion at its finest. She bounded in the door, tail wagging, dripping with the rain of abandonment. We grabbed towels and dried her off. In my sleepy deliriousness I looked up at Greyson and said, “We can’t tell Trish about this!”

Well, she knows now. Ginger got loose yesterday morning too as I was trying to get out the door to be the parent volunteer at the preschool class party. I haven’t put her on the tether since yesterday. I just strap Henry in the baby carrier and have Charlotte walk with me as I have her on the leash. I have to remember to be a good dog mama too. Ginger deserves to be head bitch.

Why are dogs with sunglasses always funny?