Remember a few months ago when I praised David for letting me nurse him at the dinner table? Not anymore.

Look around. Watch his sister. Scream. Arch. Wiggle. Pull away from the nipple and scream some more. No, not the other side. Not sitting up and hanging out. Yes, a quiet non-distracting venue.

I realize this is a stage, it will pass, but I resent being banished to the sofa while everyone else sits at the table and has dinner.

I tried to nurse him on the bleachers while I watched Rose's gymnastics class; we ended up in the deserted cubby room staring at the rows of kiddie sneakers and pink coats. He let me nurse him at the echoing train station while we waited to say good-bye to the grandparents, but I think those days are numbered.

(I don't actually mind being banished to the rocking chair upstairs where I can read my book in peace and quiet while everyone else handles two-year-old temper tantrums and tidies the rice off the floor, but I need a new good book☺)