Mom Need Not Apply.

Tonight is the first night that Dean has fed Noah a pumped bottle of breast milk while I was at home . . . and it felt downright rotten.

What stunk to high heaven was not that I was able to freely frolic around the house at Noah's bedtime--which is usually my task and mine alone because of nursing and Dean's work schedule--but the "mom, you're not needed as long as I get my dinner someway somehow" part did.

You should have seen how greedily he was clutching the bottle with both of his tiny paws, panting as he slurped every last drip and drop. He seemed aware and almost accepting that his warm and snugly mommy humming soft lullabies was not the source of his sweet nectar. I strangely sensed that all the while he was contently gazing around the room as if looking for me so that he could say, "Your services are no longer needed here, Gertrude. You can go home early today."

Okay, so maybe I am being a little mellow dramatic, but I sure did feel suddenly useless for the first time in five months. I loved the temporary freedom, but I didn't liked being replaced by a hairy arm and a short glass bottle.

Remember me? I'm the gal with the soft warm milk bags that have fulfilled your every hunger pang regardless of the time of day every minute since birth?

Oh, how easily they forget.