Dear Past Erin,

Under no circumstances should you tell your consin's new girlfriend about thrush and it's nasty affect on breastfeeding over tamales at Ol' Mexico.
She will pretend to listen, but actually try to figure out what thrush is while staring at the cilantro caught in your bottom teeth.
Oh, Past Erin, do you remember the days when you talked about things other than your baby?
Me neither.
Sincerely yours,
Future Erin

Going Offline

We are at the Grandma Spa.

I'm tired.

Being solely responsible for a life is hard.

I know I only have one child.

I know I shouldn't complain.

Which is why I'm NOT complaining. I'm going to the spa.

I'll be back when I damn well feel like it.

(Tomorrow.)

Conversations About Breasts.

I got to spend my morning with the unbellievably sweet Felton children.
We had breakfast at McDonald's (because I am very cool), and then headed back to my house to let SJ take her nap.
When we settled down in the living room to watch Return of the Jedi, I needed to nurse Shirley. Though I was modest, the kiddos were ENTHRALLED.
Anna: What is she drinking?
Erin: She's drinking milk.
Timothy: Where does she drink from?
Erin: My breast.
Timothy: I don't get it. [Complete loss of interest to Jabba the Hut--ironic, yes?]
Anna to Timothy: I think that when we are grown-ups and we drink milk, it goes in here [pointing to chest].
Anna to Erin: Right?
Erin: Well, sort of. My body uses the food that I eat to make milk for Shirley Jean.
Anna: Why?
Erin: Because that's how God created us to take care of our babies.
Anna: I used to suck on my mom's breast.
Erin: Yep--we all did.
Anna: Did they have to cut Shirley out of your tummy?
Erin: Anna, can you go into the kitchen and get me my coffee off the counter, then can you go into Shirley's room and get me her pacifier, and then can you put your socks back on?
Anna: Sure!
Erin: [Relieved.]