You know it's time to wean the baby when he hikes your shirt up to your neck when you are defenseless to prevent it in the optometrist's office.

I told the assistant that when she told all her friends about me, to please not use my name.

There I am, staring into the machine (which is what made him freak out, I'm sure), waiting for the puff of air to blast me in the eye and he's climbed onto my lap, hiked my sweater to my neck and is yanking at my bra. I finally gave up, yanked the sweater over the top of the whole package and let him nurse away. He clung on like a leech.

It was humiliating.

My problem is that I have no clue how to wean a baby that doesn't want to wean. All my others weaned by their own choosing...well before this. At this age, my ears can't take the protest.

Oh, help.

Here's hoping that Thanksgiving will produce the necessary distraction.