The trip north was so beautiful.
Flying through the clouds, looking down on the ocean and the gorgeous islands off the coast - and then, the Sierra Mountains and the Cascades, capped in snow in mid-July. It was an absolutely breathtaking sight to behold.
Much like the pictures that my husband forwarded to me of the impromptu birthday celebration they held (yet again) for our resident toddler.
Internet. I present to you ... while sprawled across a table wearing a party hat and eating chocolate frosted cupcakes ... the one and only: Henry.
Why do you ask?
The fact is: Although I never imagined that I'd still be nursing a two-year old, here I am, still nursing a two-year-old. Because, I love it. Because, it makes me happy. Because it makes him happy. And although it seems like nursing a child over 12-months old is probably taboo, I really don't care. OK. Maybe I do.
A little bit.
But not enough for me to stop.
I love the way he toddles up and wraps his arms around my legs and sweetly says, "Mama, NORSE?" If I don't respond right away, he will plead, "Mama. Mama! Pwease, Mama. NORSE?" And if I don't look at him, he will do his best to climb on to my lap - and guide my face with his hands - so I am looking directly at him. When I pick him up and ask, "Henry, sweet baby. Do you want to nurse?" He will throw his arms up over his head and cheer, "YAY HENWY!!!" like he just hit a Grand Slam out of the park in the bottom of the ninth, seventh game of the World Series.
Since I wasn't able to have this singleton nursing experience before, I love that I am having this experience with this baby. I absolutely love nursing Henry. In the early morning, afternoon, or night time, just before bed. And I think Henry loves being nursed.