It’s rainy outside.

Which means: not snowy! Or at least, not snowing–the piles of dirty snow may take a while still to melt.

Alice is sleeping. I’m at work and there’s not a lot going on (hence this blog post). I’m drinking a cup of coffee ground from whole beans roasted in the mountains of Colorado thanks to a boss who is a coffee snob.

I love that he’s a coffee snob.

I’m wearing a dress. This is important, because it’s taken me a long time to realize I can wear my dresses again. It went like this: I was pregnant, and as I got increasingly large, my wardrobe choices declined in direct proportion to my size. I thought, “after I have this baby, I can wear all my old clothes!”

Hah. Innocent fool! Because then I was breastfeeding . . . forever. And I had a baby who liked to take her sweet little time about it, ergo, 45-minute-long nursing sessions in my office chair at work while I typed madly with one hand and hoped that no one rang at the front door, because that always meant a strange downward glance at my nursing cover and the oddly shaped bundle beneath it, then the slow dawning of realization in the visitor’s eyes that there was a baby under there, and that baby was sucking on that woman’s boob.

And by the way, I got really fast at typing with one hand. And gradually lost my awkward feeling about nursing in front of absolutely everyone–during meetings, conference calls, and even as I signed for the occasional FedEx package while propping my nursing child up on a knee/elbow combo to free up both hands. It was a time of acrobatics born of necessity.

So basically, I constantly wore nursing camis because anything that was too complicated to unattach and reattach all day was just going to make life miserable.

Then my baby got really efficient at nursing. It started to take only about 10 minutes per session. I expanded my wardrobe choices, because now if we were at work or in public, I could just pop into a bathroom and nurse her there. Which meant I could wear regular shirts and bras, as long as I could remove them easily (so still no on most dresses).

And finally, we’re at the stage where she may be weaning herself. She’s almost 17 months old and we have only one nursing time left in the mornings . . . but most mornings recently she just looks at me with a bemused expression, and then exclaims “Da!” while thrusting a book in my face.

C’mon Mom, I don’t have time to nurse and snuggle! We have to read “Happy Valentine’s Day Little Critter” RIGHT NOW! It’s SO IMPORTANT!

So we read a book instead, and that’s that.

She loves her books, that little stinker.

I’m not saying “she’s weaned” yet (that sounds so official) . . . but it seems like that’s in our near future. Sniff, sniff.

The point is, now that nursing is only 1 optional time before I get dressed, I can wear whatever I want during the day. And this week I finally started getting out my dresses. It’s a whole new world, people. A world of wearing whatever I want without considering the needs of a baby. It’s so . . . easy! Freeing! Playful! Wonderful!

So that’s me this morning. Rainy, baby sleeping (though not for much longer), and wearing a dress.

Happy Wednesday, friends.