To the Shore

anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that i'm one of the more modest people you'll meet. but the act of birthing and subsequently feeding your child pretty much requires you to toss that modesty out the window from the top of the empire state building the day your baby is born. i had to have an out-of-body experience to really be ok with the fact that that many people were looking at - and groping - my ladyparts. even still, i often make euphemisms for b-feeding (see i can't even say it here). i tell people i'm "making food" or "going to feed ansley." but my fav as of late is "going to the shore." this most recent genteelism was borne of the MTV phenomenon Jersey Shore, wherein the self-proclaimed Guidos and Guidettes dance to house music by "beating up the beat" with frequent and forceful fist pumps (you can't make this stuff up). therefore, going to the shore = jersey shore --> where they practice fist pumping --> which is kind of like milk pumping... you get it, right? 

well sometimes we don't have to go all the way to the shore and ansley just drinks from the tap. 

this happened yesterday when daddy came up with a glass of milk and tried to toast you, saying "we can drink our milk together!" but little did he know, you require full concentration when taking a milk break, and would have none of it. seriously - completely stopped gulping, turned your head around and let out an "uuuhhh" in exclamation of your annoyance. when daddy tried to reason with you, he got another, even more annoyed-sounding "uhh." (translation: go away daddy, this is my time). poor daddy finally gave up and reluctantly trudged out of the room, but not before warning you "those might be yours now, but not forever..."