I just love it when the Wee One is really hungry, and I pick her up, and she immediately tries to nurse on the nearest available surface.

You’d think she’d have figured out by now that it doesn’t come out of my shoulder. Really.

It’s almost time to think about solids for her. These days, doctors recommend exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months, and she’s only barely four months old. But I’m really getting tired of getting stared at with a longing look every time I’m having a snack. The other day I was holding her on my lap while I drank a glass of water, and every time the glass passed by the Wee One’s head, she opened her mouth and followed it like a baby bird looking for a worm. I’ve promised her I’ll look into the rice cereal name brands next time we’re at the store, but I’m still hoping to stall her until Christmas, at least. Maybe that’s what Santa will bring her — a box of cereal.

I’m hoping the introduction of solids will help stem the tide of spit-up. My wardrobe really can’t take much more.

A couple of weeks ago, I went for my yearly physical. was still at home so I got to go all by myself. On my way out the door, I noticed I had two big splotches of spit-up on my shirt. I thought I’d try to project the image of a pulled together, free-spirited, childless woman at the doctor’s office, so I ran upstairs and changed my shirt really fast and then dashed out the door.

In the waiting room I took off my coat and found not two, but four stains in my “clean” shirt. Two from spit-up, and two from salad dressing, spilled on my shirt the last time I tried to eat with the baby on my lap. Sigh.

When I got in to see the doctor — who was running a glorious 10 minutes late, 10 full minutes of me-time, 10 minutes of reading a book without pictures — she mentioned how strange it was to see me without any kids attached. And I thought, you can still see the marks of their existence all over me.

Sweet, but boy, do I ever need a new wardrobe.