The time has come. Ready or not...the baby is ready to wean. I've thought several times over the past year as to when I might like her to be done nursing. I had one of two responses: Now, and Never. She is just now 18 months old, and nurses strictly because I pin her down in the recliner and stick a boob in her face until she latches on. I think, perhaps, it is time to reevaluate this relationship.
I have been nursing, or just finishing nursing, or again beginning a nursing relationship for nearly 4 straight years. More than once, I have yearned for a lacy push up bra designed for no other reason that to be pretty. I've been desperate to sleep wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. I've wanted to fly to Asia with my husband with not a thought to the nourishment of my offspring.
The other part of me would nurse these kids until puberty.
Alas, it is decision time. I am travelling solo to Sask. at the end of March. I very much do NOT want this to be the time when the baby discovers the ever-present boob is gone. I've considered taking her with me, as she has been my shadow for the past 18 months. But I've realized that I really need some time with just me and my Mom, and some serious doting time on my new niece without my trapeze-artist-in-training swinging from the light fixtures.
In the past, I've hauled my pump to every corner of the continent, but I think that too may be a thing of the past. I can't stand that thing, and the baby is not likely to be very fond of a bottle after not laying eyes on one for the past 6 months.
I never thought I'd be an extended breastfeeding kind of mom. I thought it seemed like the best thing to do, but once they're walking they could get their own sippy cup and I'd be off the hook.
Not so with this little monkey. She and I have really enjoyed this relationship, and I just never got around to ending it.
So is it time??? I dunno. I am the only one grappling with this decision. She seems perfectly fine. 48 hours and counting, and she is completely unfazed. Not a whimper, not a peep - not even that little grabbing thing she does at my shirt when I've made her wait too long.
I however, am not so sure. This seems too easy. Most mistakes are like that aren't they??? Really easy to make. Maybe not. Maybe a part of me wants her to be upset over this. Perhaps my aching chest and the lack of oxyblahblahblah is making me stupider than usual.
Speaking of my chest. Has anyone seen my breasts?? I knew they were here just a few years ago. I remember them well. Like two softballs perched there just tempting passersby to play with them. I didn't have any use for them then- they were merely something that had to be confined so I didn't get a black eye jogging.
Despite my knockers, I've never been (nor will I ever be) "bikini ready". I considered them a nuisance.
I should have been nicer to them.
They've now been well used, and they seem to have transformed. Gone are the softballs of yesterday, and instead, I am left with golf balls.....Two golf balls....At the bottom of two tube socks.
If I ever really get wise, I will quit bras altogether and just tuck them into my waistband. Save money, save time; possibly even motivate myself to get my belly flat so there's more room in my pants for my boobs.
For now, my tube-sock-swathed-golf-balls are a bit lonely, a bit confused, and a bit itchy ( I finally put on a real bra - not so comfy as I remember). We will have to see what the next chapter brings. I hope this baby knows what she is doing...
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Morning Light
I am not a morning person. Shocking, I know, considering the sunny disposition I display the remainder of the day. Honestly, I don't really warm up to the world until about 10am. I should get a job working nights.
I am, however, the mother of three miniature "morning people". God has a sense of humour. To add insult to injury, I find myself bound for the duration of my natural life to a rather handsome "morning man". It's like the universe hates me, and I can't even get my eyes open yet.
The beginning of my day is dependent upon the sun. Literally. Despite my heroic efforts to block any molecule of light from entering my house before noon, my children smell the sunlight and shoot from their beds at any ridiculous hour. I have hung heinous looking roller shades, covered by room darkening curtains, and, in desperation, draped flannel sheets over the window in my kids' room in an effort to squeak out an extra 15 minutes in the morning. My efforts were for naught.
Day after day, I fight the fight of a tired woman. Day after day, I lose. My three little angels are tucked safely in their bedroom - like bats in a cave. I have made every effort to keep the darkness absolute. The night before, I will scamper around in the darkness looking for sources of light, such as that room freshener in the laundry room that some childless sadist created with a nightlight hidden in the back. Don't they know toddlers can see light through walls?? I drop into a moderate-to-profound coma satisfied that my house is indeed pitch black, and I can sleep indefinitely.
6:00 am. An hour best left to roosters and the guy who makes my morning bagels. A rather sweaty little hand pokes randomly at my face. A round, bald head smashes up against my forehead and with a waft of morning breath, I hear, "Mommy, I'm here". "I'm all done sleepin', let's got play". The voice repeats this series. I ignore at least the first 40 seconds of this, until his pitch changes and he starts the litany of reasons why I cannot remain in my blissful stupor. "I'm thirsty...I want breakfast....I need juice...I wanna watch a movie...let's go play trains....It's morning Mommy, I don't wanna sleep, you're all done sleepin' " Ahh! If he still gets the coma-mama treatment, he will play his ace and say sweetly "I love my mom - here I'll help you; come wiss me". By helping, he means pushing my eyelids open, snatching my blankets and tugging mightily on my arms, as though I may actually be physically incapacitated by sleep.
My feet hit the floor (my eyes refuse to open), and my only conscious thought is whether or not anyone has had the good sense to invent intravenous coffee yet. Millions of dollars spent on perfecting butt lifts and tummy tucks, and what for?? I say if you really want to do womankind a favor, invent coffee I can consume BEFORE I have to get out of my bed.
I stumble to the living room muttering about how it's the middle of the night, and shushing my now ecstatic son. I've been know to threaten to end his life this minute if he wakes up his sisters. My first task is to change his diaper before it explodes. I remove his pj's and say a quick prayer it is just a wet one - anything else and I'm going to be forced to open my eyes (you only make that mistake once). Next it's on to fresh juice cups, prebreakfast snack, and the shocking realization that whoever sublets my kitchen at night has left one hell of a mess - again. Now, if I can only go pee before the girls get up....
I am, however, the mother of three miniature "morning people". God has a sense of humour. To add insult to injury, I find myself bound for the duration of my natural life to a rather handsome "morning man". It's like the universe hates me, and I can't even get my eyes open yet.
The beginning of my day is dependent upon the sun. Literally. Despite my heroic efforts to block any molecule of light from entering my house before noon, my children smell the sunlight and shoot from their beds at any ridiculous hour. I have hung heinous looking roller shades, covered by room darkening curtains, and, in desperation, draped flannel sheets over the window in my kids' room in an effort to squeak out an extra 15 minutes in the morning. My efforts were for naught.
Day after day, I fight the fight of a tired woman. Day after day, I lose. My three little angels are tucked safely in their bedroom - like bats in a cave. I have made every effort to keep the darkness absolute. The night before, I will scamper around in the darkness looking for sources of light, such as that room freshener in the laundry room that some childless sadist created with a nightlight hidden in the back. Don't they know toddlers can see light through walls?? I drop into a moderate-to-profound coma satisfied that my house is indeed pitch black, and I can sleep indefinitely.
6:00 am. An hour best left to roosters and the guy who makes my morning bagels. A rather sweaty little hand pokes randomly at my face. A round, bald head smashes up against my forehead and with a waft of morning breath, I hear, "Mommy, I'm here". "I'm all done sleepin', let's got play". The voice repeats this series. I ignore at least the first 40 seconds of this, until his pitch changes and he starts the litany of reasons why I cannot remain in my blissful stupor. "I'm thirsty...I want breakfast....I need juice...I wanna watch a movie...let's go play trains....It's morning Mommy, I don't wanna sleep, you're all done sleepin' " Ahh! If he still gets the coma-mama treatment, he will play his ace and say sweetly "I love my mom - here I'll help you; come wiss me". By helping, he means pushing my eyelids open, snatching my blankets and tugging mightily on my arms, as though I may actually be physically incapacitated by sleep.
My feet hit the floor (my eyes refuse to open), and my only conscious thought is whether or not anyone has had the good sense to invent intravenous coffee yet. Millions of dollars spent on perfecting butt lifts and tummy tucks, and what for?? I say if you really want to do womankind a favor, invent coffee I can consume BEFORE I have to get out of my bed.
I stumble to the living room muttering about how it's the middle of the night, and shushing my now ecstatic son. I've been know to threaten to end his life this minute if he wakes up his sisters. My first task is to change his diaper before it explodes. I remove his pj's and say a quick prayer it is just a wet one - anything else and I'm going to be forced to open my eyes (you only make that mistake once). Next it's on to fresh juice cups, prebreakfast snack, and the shocking realization that whoever sublets my kitchen at night has left one hell of a mess - again. Now, if I can only go pee before the girls get up....
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