the magical donkey

Eli has always been my most finicky baby to nurse (not that you can tell by his physique), and I do not care for it. It is the type of thing that stresses me out big time. He goes through terrible phases of just refusing to cooperate any time it's time to nurse. We are in one of those phases right now (albeit not the worst one, thankfully) and he was just screaming at me every time I tried to feed him. 

Finally, at my wit's end, I sat him up, randomly grabbed his stuffed donkey, and nuzzled it in his face. He almost instantly stopped crying, if only to investigate this new turn of events, and then wrapped his chubby little arms around the donkey. I decided to risk lying him down to nurse again, holding my breath, waiting for him to start screaming at me again, but... he didn't. He latched. He ate. He kept a tight grip on his donkey. And he fell asleep. 

And my soul calmed. 

His little hands squeezing furry ears. His steady breathing in and out. His body relaxed against mine. I let both of us rest in that moment, waiting those few extra minutes before putting him in bed.

Is it a magical donkey? Will I be nursing my almost 21-pound, 7-month-old baby with a donkey squished between us from now on? Probably not. Most likely it was a one-time-only moment of sweetness. But I will take it. It was just what I, and apparently he, needed. 

This mama gig is the most emotionally trying and emotionally fulfilling job in the world. But even on the hard days, I love it more than words can say.