Who’s really being weaned?

Well, my son has been fully weaned at seven months. I tried to do it slowly. I was planning to still nurse him in the morning and at night. It snowballed somehow. I guess we were  both just ready. He didn’t seem to be getting enough food and he was so distracted all the time that many feeding sessions had become an ordeal. Plus, he still bit me occasionally (although he had gotten much better about that).

He seems to be taking it pretty well, as far as I can tell. He accepts the bottle readily (He actually gets excited when he sees one.) and no longer gets confused and tries to go for both the breast AND bottle when I give him a bottle. I, however, am feeling a bit sad. I might still be able to go back, but I don’t think it’s the right thing. Still, the right thing isn’t always easy.

I will never breast-feed Max again. He has taken another step towards independence. I will find a way to make up for the closeness I felt when I nursed him. Until then, I am sad.

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Spit-up in my Git-up

Recently, Max has had a problem with gas and spitting up. Not a serious problem, but sometimes burps awaken him from perfectly good naps and he seems to insist on waiting to spit up until we have decided he is not going to spit up and have put away the burp cloth, thereby leaving our clothes unprotected.

Usually, burping him on the shoulder was the most effective way to go. The pressure of a chest against his stomach seemed to force the burp out. However, now he has discovered his ability to hold his head up! And move it! And use both hands to yank different sections of mom’s hair as if they were reins with his drooly, spit-up covered hands! (I am probably going to have to give in and cut off my hair. I spend way too much time removing his little hands from my hair everyday and it hurts too much when he pulls it. I know it’s time for a change when I am shying away from my baby putting his arms around my neck due to fear of pain inflicted by his chubby, dimpled, vise-like hands.)

He has discovered he can turn his head to the side and lean back down towards my breast while I am attempting to burp him. I have become resigned to the fact that, at some point, he is going to puke on my face while planting his drooly, open mouth on my cheek during burping sessions. It did not occur to me until just before it happened that he would puke on my breasts, his food source. But he did. Right down the cleavage. Dead center. And I calmly wiped it up with a burp cloth and went on with my day.

Neighborhood, watch

Well, I finally did it. I walked outside with my boob hanging out of my top. I had finished nursing Max, but I wasn’t completely sure he was done. I guess I’ve become so accustomed to one of the girls being out that I didn’t notice after awhile. Luckily, the exposed side was pointing towards the house and Max was providing cover. Also, I didn’t stray far from the front door.

The weirdest thing by far, though, is that I wasn’t that shocked or mortified. I just kind of laughed and walked back in the house. Not even that quickly. In fact, I was already thinking about what a good story it would make. However, I didn’t get to tell it to anyone but Chris at first, because I kept forgetting that I did it. How do you forget that you walked outside with your boob hanging out of your top??

Yea! My son is sleeping through the night.

Unfortunately, I wake up every morning with the front of my nightgown soaked in milk and yet still feel like my boobs are going to explode.

Kitty/baby exploit of the day

Daddy volunteers to burp baby to give Mommy a break during breast-feeding. Baby has poop explosion all over sleepsack and Daddy’s only pair of clean jeans. Upon carrying baby in to the nursery, Daddy finds Fort sitting on the changing table for the first time.  Mommy is called in to perform a Fort removal. Pantless Daddy discovers Diaper Champ is full. Mommy is called upon to remove trash bag of diapers and replace it with new trash bag. Mommy is going to wear a tarp over her jeans during the second half of breast-feeding as she, too, only has one “clean” pair.

Three clumsiest things I’ve done this week (so far!)

1. Tried to eat some Smart Ones fettucine alfredo too fast (in order to finish before the baby’s next feeding) and flipped the fork out of my hand, hitting CC in the leg.

2. Knocked over a bottle of breast milk and spilled it all over the floor and a tote bag.

3. Stepped on Earl Grey’s paw.

What will happen next? More specifically, what will happen to Fudgie? He’s the only cat I haven’t managed to inadvertently injure this week. (Actually, they’re fine, thank goodness.)

Free to breast-feed

My son and I finally made it to our first postnatal yoga class today. I didn’t actually end up doing much yoga because my son, like most almost-two-month-olds, needs to eat every three hours. Also, he takes about 40 minutes to  nurse. I admit, this has kept me from attending the class before, because I didn’t want to spend most of it nursing instead of doing yoga. However, the writing is on the wall. I’m not going to be able to do anything unless I am willing to feed him during some part of it. So I went, but I took a bottle of breast milk with me, since he usually bottle-feeds quicker than he nurses.

My son has taken a bottle from me several times and he usually gets at least one a day from my husband, so that I can have a break. However, he wouldn’t take it today. So, since several other women were nursing their babies, I decided to go ahead and nurse him.

At first, I felt self-conscious nursing without a cover in public. However, I soon became completely comfortable with it. In fact, I felt liberated. Before I had a child, I was fine with women breast-feeding in public, although I assumed it would be best for them to cover themselves up, to avoid catching flack from people. I thought it must be easy to just toss a cover over yourself and the baby. I was wrong. I have a nursing cover. It is very difficult to get the child in and out of the cover without exposing yourself somehow anyway. You either have to flash people or place the child under there and then fumble with your clothes, blind and one-handed. Also, it is sweltering under there (I can only imagine what it feels like for my son.) and trying to get him latched back on  five thousand times while I can’t see him makes me want to pull my hair out.

Everyone says “breast is best.” They want all of the moms to breast-feed because it is better for the babies, but most people would prefer you stay trapped in the house for three months doing it. I’m sorry, but that is just not realistic. If people are going to get judgmental about a mom not breast-feeding, then they shouldn’t be judgmental about a mom doing it in public. A mom still has to have a life while breast-feeding, especially if she has other kids and/or a job. Plus, it’s better for both mom and baby if they aren’t trapped in the house 24/7. For the first time today, I didn’t feel limited by breast-feeding. I didn’t feel trapped. I actually felt like I was breast-feeding and living at the same time. I didn’t feel like I had to drop everything to feed my child. I didn’t have to stop my life. I was sharing my life with him.

Honestly, I think most moms probably aren’t self-conscious about nursing without a cover. At least, like me, they would find out they weren’t once they tried it. I think it is other people’s attitudes that make a mom self-conscious, rather than her own feelings. It’s not what the mom or baby is doing, but other people’s thoughts about breasts that are the problem. The fact is, I had to look really closely at the moms in class today to tell if they were nursing, even without covers. They were very discreet about it. They weren’t flashing their breasts around or letting them hang out when a child wasn’t latched to them. The fact is, our society is prudish and many think of breasts purely as sexual objects. Come on, people. It’s breast-feeding, not flashing your boobs to get Mardi Gras beads. And yet, some of the same people who probably pay money for those Girls Gone Wild DVDs, give nursing mothers dirty looks in public.

Crazy little thing called love

How is it that I can simultaneously love my little boy so much I feel like I’ll explode from the force of it and somewhat resent having to drop everything every few hours and let him suckle on my boob for almost an hour? I’m quickly learning that you feel torn about almost everything to do with motherhood. I’d better get used to it. At least the utter adorableness and heartbreaking sweetness of my little man do a lot to make it worth it.

Mommy = 24-hour restaurant?

I feel like a heel when my son has already been eating for an hour, wants more (or maybe just wants to stay at the breast for comfort), and I have to take a break to go to the bathroom or stretch my legs or just because I’m tired of having someone suck milk out of me. I know these feelings are normal, but that certainly doesn’t make them any more pleasant. Or make me any less worried that my son is learning he can’t trust his mommy to be there for him whenever and however long he needs her.

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