I have a smart kid. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. She can shape sort with the best of them, walk up stairs like a big kid, and run away with a mischievous look when we need to put some pants on her. She can say a bunch of words and sign a few of them. She knows that if she comes up to me, arms outstretched, that I will either 1) give her the food/item that I’m holding, or 2) pick her up.
She’s got some brains.
Penny has figured out that if she comes up to me and pulls down my shirt, I will nurse her. This is a blessing and a curse.
It started a few weeks ago when I noticed she would mess with my shirt when she was really hungry. Oh! I thought. She needs milk. How smart! We’d go get comfy somewhere and she’d chow down. I was beaming with pride at how clever she was.
But now… oh now. How little did I know about how it would affect me now.
I’m sitting on the ground with her, watching some Blue’s Clues, and she turns around and starts pulling down my pajama shirt. Mind you, she had just nursed half an hour ago. I let her have a bit but she only nurses for a minute, tops. Five-ten minutes later, she’s pulling on my shirt again. I say no, you’ve had enough for now, and she starts freaking out!
The other night she was in the bath and reached over, pulling on my shirt. No! I said. She plops down in the bath, water splashing up the sides, and proceeds to sob. Oh my goodness!
This is where we are now. She asks. I refuse. She throws a fit.
This girl doesn’t need to nurse that much. She’s doing it for comfort more than anything. I’ve already given in way too many times! She’s just gotten too smart for her own good. She just loves the boobs haha.