A very important announcement!:
1. I haven’t used my breast pump since January.
2. Over the last week, Pitter has forgotten to ask (and I have not offered) to nurse more than half the time.
3. When Pitter does nurse I can stand it for approx. 4 minutes + 30 seconds because
a. His toddler-latch now involves leaving 4 teeth marks on me
b. It almost never puts him to sleep
c. I don’t think there’s much milk in those babies anymore
We are down to 1-2 five minute sessions a day. THANK GOD. I’ve been ready to wean completely for about three months now. We’re not done yet, but I now have hope that I may–gasp!–have a break from nursing for a few months before the next baby arrives to suck the life out of me.
I expected the weaning process to be psychologically difficult for me: “Oh! My baby is leaving me! We’re losing our close special moments! Woe. Woe is me!”
Perhaps it’s because I’m pregnant and my body is ch-cha-changing, but it hasn’t gone that way at all. It’s more like, “WHEN will you leave me alone? WHEN will this agony be done with?” mixed with moments of glee when I realize we’ve skipped regularly-scheduled programming.
Expectations. You’d think that having been a mother for nearly two years, by now I’d realize they’re laughable and should be outlawed from my brain entirely. Naturally, I feel enormous guilt for NOT feeling sentimental about weaning because that’s how I roll: no matter how I feel about mothering, I’m failing at it somehow. Ah, life is grand.
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On a lighter note, on Friday afternoon I took myself shoe shopping after getting my hair cut (pictures to come some time this century). I hear these are the sort of activities women do when they have a few hours to themselves, so I thought I’d check it out. The result?
1. My hairdresser informed me that the reason my hair is so thick and is not falling out while I’m pregnant is because of the hormones (pills?) we pregnant women take. I’m currently in the tertiary hair stage.
Uh, okay.
2. I was asked for my phone number at the outdoor shopping area near the shoe store by three twelve year old boys. And I’m 80% certain they weren’t mocking me. It made me feel, well…quasi-flattered and quasi-nauseas. I mean, Pitter is closer to twelve than I am, afterall. However, I think it only proves that my hairdresser may not be an MD, but she can provide a cute cut. (Now you’re really desperate for pictures, aren’t you? By God, I’m a Mandy Moore clone, I tell you!)
3. I passed a fourteen year old woman wearing a Nirvana T-shirt, ironically, I suppose. And then I was transformed back to my natural state and felt ancient and haggardly again. (Did I mention that my hairdresser also exclaimed, “Oh! You’ve got a lot of grays coming in!” Thanks a bunch, babe.)
1 Comment
March 31, 2008 at 8:47 am
That’s how I felt about weaning my son, too. My unrealistic expectation was for him to stop at 14 months because that’s when my daughter stopped. So for the next 6 months it was me going, “son, when are you going to leave me alone? Please be done.” I finally got fed up when he was 20 months old so I cut him off cold turkey. Those feelings of “please stop” were there at the same time as other feelings of love and pride and connectedness.
I wish you and Pitter the best as you all work it out.