It was in this post where I originally described the fun of nursing an infant.
Nursing a "waddler" (not quite a toddler, but certainly a walking infant) is just as hilarious, if not more so. Let's walk through it.
10 AM: Gianna walks over to where I am picking up blocks for the 11 billionth time that morning, and smacks me on the chest. "Nurse?" I ask her, signing as well.
She responds by doing the "nursing chuckle," "Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh..." She flings herself into my arms, and we proceed.
10:01 AM: Gianna's eyes squint, and suddenly her pointer finger looms into my peripheral vision. In an instant, my nose is being picked. I remove her hand. She casually zooms in again, and I remove her hand again. Repeat.
10:03 AM: She's disinterested in the nostrils now. Right now, she wants to rest her foot on my cheek. "Rest" is actually the wrong word. She wants to kick my cheek repeatedly while asking, "Dis? Dis? Dis?" Only, she's nursing, so it's more like, "Mish? Mish? Mish?" All of the above is dissuaded, as talking while nursing involves way more teeth than are comfortable.
10:05 AM: What to do... what to do... Ah yes! Gianna grabs my hair and pulls gently. Then, she lets go and pulls her own hair gently. Her eyebrows furrow. She has an idea. She grabs my hair, this time not so gently, and gives it a yank. Then, repeats on her own hair. Back and forth, she tests the tensile strength of each of our tresses until I actually reach my own breaking point before my hair. I encourage her to pull on my nursing necklace, a gift from my mother when I described the black and blue marks I was getting from my interactive nursling.
10:06 AM: I am strangled by my own nursing necklace. Examination of the nostrils resumes.
10:07 AM: Gianna leaps away, ready to play. I grab some tea, and cherish all the fuzzy hormones that nursing releases. Oxytocin, where would we be without you? Probably not nursing, that's for sure.