He's too big for that!

Mommy Proof # 15: Nursing a toddler on demand (in public) is offensive!

Have you ever received that look of nostalgia when you settle in to nurse in public? I am sure you have received it at least once. The look that says, "Oh, I have been there." The mother that lovingly rubs her school age child's head as memories take over. The grandmother who smiles knowingly when she sees you discreetly covering up. The woman in the outlet mall who embarrasses her children by catching your eye, smiling brightly while giving a thumbs up, and mouthing "WAY TO GO!" Yes, I have received them all. But the best look of all is the one that goes from nostalgia to sheer disgust once your enormous baby peeps from under the cover. The look of utter repulsion once the giant child jerks the cover off and slides down your lap while milk squirts across the room.

Yes, I am one of those mothers. I nurse a toddler. He is 15 months to be exact. Three months older than a one year old. He could drink cow's milk and no one would take offense, but if I offer him my milk it draw stares, gasps, admonitions. Here are a few of my favorite arguments about nursing a toddler AND nursing in public:

1. "He is going to be a mama's boy." Here is the thing about that. Aren't most sons "mama's boys?" Without a "mama" there would be NO boys.

2. "Is he getting anything?" Keep talking so that he will keep pulling off my breast to see who I am talking to. When milk is squirted in your eye, you will have the answer.

3. "He is old enough to drink 'regular' milk." Uhhhh, my milk is made especially for him. My baby is getting specialized nutrition. I am that awesome.

4. "Where is his cup?" On the floor. Where he threw it. After I offered it to him. When he signed for milk.

5. "You must enjoy that." That usually comes from someone who hasn't nursed or didn't nurse long. Nursing isn't always enjoyable. Nursing a toddler usually comes with some form of acrobatics to get comfortable and fulfill a toddler's constant desire to move.

But my favorite thing that has ever been said is, "When are you going to stop?" My answer, "Ask him."
*Blank stare*

The Joy of Independence!

Mommy Proof #14: Independence is bittersweet!

I remember the first time I slept in on a Saturday morning. It was the summer of 2011. I was around one million months pregnant and in the stage of endless slumber. I could literally sleep for 20 out of 24 hours during the day. I still would wake drowsy, heavy, and unrefreshed. The sun was out and bright which was unusual for our home. A typical morning is started with the roosters and break of dawn. As I blinked hard against the rays pouring through my curtains, I realized that the kids had not roused me from my slumber with demands of "Milk, chocolate milk", "Poptarts and grapes" (my son has had one each morning for the past two years :-/ ), or "Just toast for now."

I jumped out of bed...well more like rolled slowly onto my right side, then shimmied my body until I felt the edge of my bed on my back, slid down until my swollen feet hit the ground, stood there with uneasiness and my hands held out for balance....whatever. I waddled into the kitchen and was met with three empty bowls, three empty cups, and a couple of banana peels on the table. There was a small puddle of milk under one of the cups. The spill had obviously been worse than that judging by the fifteen or so soggy paper towels that had taken up residence nearby. The mess didn't strike me as much as the eerie silence that rarely existed in our home. I, then, heard a group of quiet giggles followed by shushing. A whispered voice reminded her younger siblings, "Mommy's sleeping, shhhhhhh!" I was awarded a few moments of sleep by my third-in-command oldest child.

All three of them turned as I came into the room and announced what they had done that morning. "...Breakfast!" "I helped!" "Milk!" In true Three Stooges mode, they started pushing and shushing each other, because someone interrupted them. They were still talking and blah, blah, blah. Independence is an awesome concept. The problem is that the oldest child inevitably comes into the independence stage first. In the beginning, it is met with excitement and awe by the younger siblings. Fast forward to the summer of 2012, the baby and I were both awakened by the squeals of protest and mutiny. The younger two had discovered their new found independence. Instead of starting the day with breakfast requests, I started the day with referee duties. Yay?

Jenn of All Trades, Master of None

Mommy Proof # 13: You can do anything you put your mind to, unless you aren't any good at it....

At this point, I have a daughter that wants to be an OB and a surgeon. My youngest daughter wants to be a nurse, teacher, and "fashion girl." My son dreams about walking on the moon. As soon as he gets any money, he buys a toy telescope or a novelty microscope. I'm not sure what my youngest wants to do, but right now it is a cross between a boxer, dancer, or anything to do with a woman's breast. (The right one is his favorite.) I encourage them every step of the way. I rain down praises with every drawing of a new dress that she shows me. I have decorated my son's room with the moon and stars. I patiently taught my then two year old daughter the names of every word she pointed out in my old medical books. If I had their ambition, I may be in a totally different position today.

Every few years, I choose to pursue a different secular goal. My first year at college, I wanted to be a radiologist. Later that year, I decided to major in the recreation and leisure department. I am good at recreation. I am awesome at leisure. Another year, I took three classes for biotechnology. A year later, I was dead set on getting my real estate license. Six months after that, I decided to take a certification course in medical coding and billing. (That is where my two year old got the medical books.) I always excel in the classes, except for that dreaded anatomy class in college. I eventually dropped that class....and obviously any real goals.

I have played around with owning a daycare, but after I had children I realized how messy they can be. I thought about being a nurse, but I hate sickness and suffering in general. (Sickness may also be the reason I decided against being a childcare provider.) I tried to teach myself how to dance, but I dislocated my shoulder due to my lack of rhythm and grace. Don't ask me how. I also have thought about being a doula or midwife, then I experienced natural childbirth in all of its horrific glory. Add lactation consultant, personal trainer, occupational therapist, hair stylist, teacher, substitute teacher, teaching assistant, Avon lady, and census taker to my list. Well, you get the point. I have realized that I am extremely successful at being an underachiever. I take a lackluster approach to school, working out, anything that requires me to put forth effort. I am mediocre on my best day. The truth is that I couldn't think of anything I am really good at doing. So I decided to make a list of ten things:

1. I am a genius at procrastinating and quitting.

2. I am great at producing milk.

3. I potty train like a rock star.

4. I can find a sale anywhere.

5. I can plan a healthy, child-friendly meals that won't make me gag in a matter of minutes.

6. I can grab 4 sleeping kids and find shelter in the tub during a tornado warning in 46.8 seconds...

So, for now, being a mom will have to be good enough. I know I said of list of ten things....GET OVER IT!

I am who you say I am

Mommy Proof #12: I am who you say I am.

Rushed and hungry. Tired and irritable. Relaxed and jovial. Let's be honest. It depends on the time of month or day or week. If you catch me doing errands in the beginning of the week, I am calm. I laugh at every little thing the kids do. I make these witty jokes when one of them knocks something down. I giggle if they tell one of their lame "Knock, Knock" jokes. You may hear me loudly say, "You pick out the cereal." "You get to carry the bread." "You get to push the cart!" I am SuperMom! I grocery shop/clothes shop/eat out/insert errand here with four small children. I make it a learning experience. I make it fun. I allow them to skip while quietly urging them to respect the other customers/patrons/random errand people. I am awesome. You say it to yourselves. You may even whisper it to others. I leave the place in a parade of compliments....in my head.

If you see me at the store late during the day and midweek, you will see an exhausted mom trying to herd four small children through a sea of shoppers. That scowl you see on my face is from a combination of battling a small freakishly strong toddler that has fought a nap all day and low blood sugar. The latter is probably the result of fully cooked meal that is sitting in ruins on the stove. Those horribly behaved children are just acting out from hunger and exhaustion. See picture below.

Now, last but not least, is the dreaded monthly visitor that visits that vast majority of mommies every 28 days. (Or whatever is normal for your cycle. Who am I to judge?) It may be a few days before. It may be the day she chooses to show. I don't really care what day it is. Because if you see me on that day, you will think I am the most evil person you have ever seen. You may think that I have never cracked a smile...That my children have never ended their nights in pillow fights that were urged on by their mother...Or that they have never met the Tickle monster who ends the night with a bedtime story, cuddle, and a kiss...Those poor babies of mine.

The truth is: I don't really care what day it is. Every day, I try to get by the best way I can. It is not always easy. Mommies get tired. Mommies have PMS. Mommies have low blood sugar. Mommies have marital issues. Mommies deal with death. Mommies get sick. Mommies fight cancer. Mommies get depressed. Mommies have good days. Mommies have bad days.

Even on those days, they still have children who get hungry. They still have errands that need to be run. They still have a job to do. You may see me at my wit's end, but you don't come home with us. You do not see us laughing at the dinner table. You don't see me kissing them good night. You are not watching when I check on them, one last time, before I finally retire for bed. For one brief moment, I am who you say I am. The real question is: Who are you to judge? And to the answer of your other question: Yes, that is margarita mix in my cart.