Anyone Up For A Nursing Bra Burning?

Last night, there was no nursing. Marta has officially not nursed for 38 hours, leaving my shirt a wee bit tighter in all the right places and my future child free for at least an overnight. It was hard last night, though. Trevor went to her once, twice, then the third time she was not having it. Cried and sobbed for Mama, so I filled a sippy with warm milk and let her cry while I held her, telling her stories and singing lullabies. She wasn't happy, but after a while I left and she slept (not without screaming for 20 minutes, but sleep she finally did). This morning she woke up and still loved me, so I think we'll do the same thing tonight. 

However. I believe this weaning process will fall more on my shoulders this evening, since when I went up to her 10 minutes after Trevor had left, I found her freezing and WET. Not her diaper, her pajamas. It took me an hour just to warm her up, and I'm fairly certain my rage at my soundly asleep husband turned me into a right toasty furnace. When I left her room I was tempted to pull his covers off and stick his hand in a bowl of warm water, but I was too tired. This morning he was shocked; said the room felt perfectly fine to him. This from a man who sleeps in practically a loin cloth while I'm wearing my "snowsuit" (his words, not mine), piled with a quilt and a down comforter. 

But don't worry, fellow moms. I just ate the last of his ice cream. And let's not forget how a recently-weaned mom's chest goes through Pamela Anderson-esque changes, yet how it may not be touched, looked at or thought about. So we're even.