at the table

We took Maya to her first pizza parlor this past week, where she had her first taste of pizza crust and even a few sundry toppings and cheese.  She loved the water fountain behind her ringed with poinsettias, a plant we could never have with our plant-chewing cats.

The other night, Ryan made dinner for us:  chicken, edamame, asparagus, and he funneled couscous into a heart-shaped cookie cutter.  No, for those of you who know my husband.  He did not eat anything green that you see on my plate.  The world has not ended.  Maya, however, did. 

She's my girl, though, through and through.  She loves breads and pastas, the little carbo-loader.  And she's got the energy of a Kiefer, so she can burn it all off.

Tonight, she drank water from her first straw, mastering it immediately.  She had a whole slice of pickle and snuggled up for her nap on my chest smelling of it.  She had chicken and beef, tasted ketchup for the first time. 

I began to realize that I have begun to feel it's now time to consciously pull back on nursing.  We still do it regularly.  She still wakes in the night, but with her in bed, it's easy to shift from nursing to sleeping.  But this isn't a part of the equation; this isn't an issue.  I don't have plans to stop but simply edge down.  An extended weaning process, perhaps. 

It's such a joy to watch her discover new textures and flavors.  She still lights up when I give her the sign for milk.  It's still a comfort when she needs it.  But, I think, I'd like to see what's going on with my body beneath the covers, you know?  See if my body can return to its rhythms on its own.