This is what my two year old said to me this morning. At nine thirty. And I thought to myself, why not? So I popped in a frozen pizza to bake. I’m not a fanatic about what my kids eat. I don’t give them artificial sweeteners, and I don’t keep soda or ice cream in the house, rarely buy chips or junk, they never, never get dessert unless we’re at a holiday party at Marc’s family’s house. But other than that – I figure everything in moderation works. And if Sam wants a handful of chips for breakfast once in a while, so be it.

I wish he’d stop nursing – and honestly, if I can bribe him to get off of me with a piece of cold pizza, then absolutely – I’ll keep it in the house. It just works for him. I never anticipated I’d still be nursing a TWENTY SEVEN MONTH OLD but lo and behold, here we are… and I’m so incredibly ready for it to be done. I’m just not willing to make him cry and suffer without it.

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