Nonstop fun in this house

I nursed my child 15 times in a 24-hour period yesterday.

That's F-I-F-T-E-E-N.

Let the martyrdom begin.

I nursed him lying down, sitting up, awake, asleep, crying, smiling, at my desk, eating a bowl of soup, during the day, during the night.

Seriously people. This is insane. I think I still have nipples. But I can't ever see them because the child is always covering them with his mouth.

It's my own fault too. I nurse him when he's fussy because hey, if you're fussin' you must be hungry. I nurse him to sleep so he'll take naps without crying. (Yesterday, I got three straight hours out of him. Unprecedented.) I nurse him because he frantically pecks at my boob, THROUGH MY SHIRT.

So he equates calming down with the boob. And because I need the peace and quiet in order to get some damn work done, I just pop him on the boob and type over his head. I have gotten quiet adept at it. Need some html code? No problem -- I gotchya covered. But wouldn't you like the mental picture of me breastfeeding while I do it?

But all this milk must be doing something. At Jack's six-month doctor visit he was 27 inches long (75th percentile) and weighed 15.7 pounds (still the 25th percentile) and his noggin was once again average, in the 50th percentile.

He's up to eating two meals of solids a day and hit all the milestones they asked about.

Oh, and he likes to walk holding on to your hands. Seriously. Not kidding. He toddles around the living room with us holding his arms. Probably 25 steps at a time. He's a quick one too. And if you make him sit down before he's ready, he refuses to bend his legs and defiantly looks at you like "Just try and make me. You can't! Bwahahaha!"

Yesterday, he stood holding on to the coffee table by himself. Cute now, not so cute the first time I come in and see him doing it by himself I am sure.