Twins

And once more, my minions, we delve into slightly adult matters.  Those of you who are squeamish about functional body parts should go poke about in other parts of the Internets.

Herself woke up exhausted this morning, and explained to me that she spent much of the night dreaming about having newborn twins.  One boy, one girl.  Quite cute, she said.  The girl was wearing the little one-piece suit that all of the Offspring had worn home from the hospital. 

The crux of the dream was nursing the babies.  She dreamt vividly about positioning the baby correctly, tickling the little chin so the tiny mouth would open enough, helping the baby latch on properly.  Burping the baby afterwards and seeing a bit of milk trickle out of the corner of a gassy smile.

When the Offspring were little, Herself was one of those mothers.  Not a militant breastfeeder, mind you, but one of those perceived-as-slightly-crazy women who nursed beyond each child's first year.  She can't explain why it was so very important to her to nurse the babies.  Part of it was a touch of guilt in having to leave them to go to work, I'm sure.  Another greater part, though, was her visceral desire (practically a need) to give of herself to these tiny human beings that Nature had seen fit to bestow upon her.  Besides, she muses in retrospect, isn't that truly what breasts are for?  We know they can be decorative.  They are also quite functional. 

She struggled through poor latch, mastitis multiple times, leaking at inopportune moments, pumping at work,  and other associated difficulties and indignities in order to ensure that the nursing process was successful for each of the Offspring.  She poured her heart into the effort.  And it paid off.

Each child weaned in his/her own good time, after their respective first birthdays but before they reached a scandalous-in-the-eyes-of-the-general-public age.  Herself was, in fact, relieved (though slightly wistful) when they were each finished.  There.  A job well done. 

How cruel the psyche, to dredge up such vivid dreams at this time.  Is she sad? Nostalgic? Longing?  I cannot tell.  She may not know, even, herself.