I've decided that personal space is a figment of my imagination. It's like some glorious little illusion that I carry around with me, and occasional try (unsuccessfully) to achieve.
If nursing a newborn every two and a half hours isn't invasive enough, Oliver has decided that he needs to sit on my lap while I nurse. So we spend many an hour with all three of us crammed into my rocking chair. Me trying to feed Rue and save her from being squashed by the toddler, who thinks he's hilarious, by the way.
At least they're cute?
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