Wistful thinking

Moms will know what these are. These are my old breastmilk bottles, that I then used to mix formula with warm water after I weaned the boys. These bottles taught me how to eyeball an ounce, two ounces, four ounces. I can do it in my sleep now, no matter how big the container is. I know what four ounces feels like.

These bottles have been all over Missouri and Illinois with me. I sat in a freezing cold car in Springfield, Missouri, pumping milk into the newer ones after having Griffin. Man, I hated that job.

With Cooper, I had a hand pump. And I'd drive down the highway pumping milk from one boob at a time. Trying not to spill it all over, praying the other boob wouldn't suddenly start leaking. And trying to keep the semi drivers from getting some cheap thrill at watching a lactating mom's boob? Sickos.

And now, my baby Griffie is off formula. It took a little longer than I wanted, and I waited to use up the last of the gigantic carton of Enfamil I had leftover from BMS, which happened last week sometime. I was putting away dishes this morning and realized I don't need these things anymore, and I got a little teary.

So goodbye, plastic breastmilk bottles. So long, friends. You were good to us, and I appreciate it. Your lids always fit tight. You never leaked unless I didn't put the cap on in the middle of the night and tried to hold you sideways, or Griffin's ridiculously strong left hook took you out. You did your job, and now you'll be recycled into playground mulch or whatever it is they actually recycle plastic into.

Griffin is growing up, and I'm sad about that. Not sad about things like pottytraining and weaning from nursing. No, no, those are the great things about babies growing up! It's just sad to know that pretty soon I won't be able to hold him in my arms like I can now, and he'll want to be more and more independent, until the day comes when it'll be totally uncool to be in the same zip code as me.

I found this shirt at Gymboree, and it perfectly describes Griffin. He's freakishly strong! **sigh** Such sweet boys.

Ok, melancholy wistful daydreaming over. Time to fold laundry.

Time to make the donuts.