Whining about weaning

Chloe turns one next month and I assume I will wean.  Only because I know how quickly it goes from ‘sweet’ while you provide the sustenance your child needs to survive to ‘awkward’ as you become a walk up buffet.

But I’m not happy about it.  Not that I am one of those irrational breastfeeding advocates.  I advocate doing what works – and that’s different for every mother.  I have found it’s also different for every child.

Is that a Hershey kiss and an 8-year-old? Not particularly helpful.

When Gavin was born I had high hopes of sailing right up to his first birthday nursing exclusively.  Oh boy did we get off to a rocky start!  I was about to throw in the towel one week in.  It was so much harder than anyone let on.

Proper latching? positioning? engorgement WHAT?  Other moms made it seem like you just stick the kids on and go.

Then there were the undesirables not mentioned in baby books — the constant leaking, special bras, certain “accessible” clothes (pull down to expose boob or pull up to expose postpartum belly?  Oh the choices!) – it was a lot for me to handle at once.

I was certain that if it was this hard, I must be doing it all wrong.

The logistics settled in a few weeks later, we got a routine and things got much easier…until they got much worse.  Yes, I suffered with the entire Nursing Mother’s Encyclopedia of breastfeeding problems.  You name it, I had it.  Clogged ducts, mastitis, thrush, more clogged ducts and the worst of the worst – Raynards of the breast.  Imagine someone stabbing you with a penknife 1000 times in the breast.  Not awesome.

With troubleshooting and a lot of Tylenol I managed to hang in there a little over 10 months.  When I was done nursing it was more of a relief than anything since the Raynards continued.

So when Chloe was born I wasn’t sure what to expect.  People say breastfeeding is easier the second time around.  My doctor had a homeopathic plan to fend off the Raynards.  I was optimistic.

Turns out, she was a dream.  Every moment nursing her was easy and natural.  Nursing her went beyond simply providing the best source of nutrition (which is all it ever was with Gavin).  It was the beautiful bonding experience that those 1970s hippie dippy books promised it would be.

And now, I am thinking of ending it.  The thought barely registers in my brain, like I can’t get my head around it.

What will it be like when it’s over?

Will she continue to plead mmmmmh, mmmmmh, mmmmmmh as she waives her wrists excitedly every time she is hungry?

When she is tired, will she dive for comfort in the crook of my arm?

Will she miss me rubbing her back and singing as much as I will miss her num-num-num-num noshing, watching her eyes get heavy?

Will I know how to soothe her any other way?

With Gavin I was so proud of him as he crossed off every milestone in the book.  With Chloe I am sad.  I just want it all to slow down.  First it’s weaning, then it’s walking, talking, toddler beds and toilet training.  This time where she relies on me for every one of life’s necessities (a time that is both precious and maddening) – it will all be over in the blink of her pretty blue eye.

Please share your thoughts/advice on weaning – I need it!

You win some, you lose some.

The game of motherhood is no different.  Yesterday morning was a stellar one.  Let me recount how it went down, with a rating of how remarkable each event was (scale of 1-10, one being as common as meltdowns and ten being as rare as Hailey’s Comet):

I woke up feeling refreshed (8)
Chloe woke up happy (3)
Gavin woke up happy (12)
Gavin was hungry (5)
Chloe was hungry (1)
I was inspired to make french toast (7)

Gavin thought it was a great idea! and did NOT throw himself on the floor at the tragedy that I could even suggest something so horrible, and instead couldn’t he just have some yogurt? (10)
Gavin helped me cook while Ian played with Chloe (3)
Both kids ate ALL their french toast (6)
And asked for MORE (8)

We ate, we danced, we laughed.  It was a regular day in the Brady Bunch household.  I’m not going to lie, that kind of morning sets you on cloud 9 for the rest of the day (or at least until dinnertime).

Lest you worry that my family has been taken over by pods, I assure you, breakfast was back to normal today.


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WTTM Beyonce!

Welcome to the world Blue Ivy!  The baby, not the florist in Chattanooga, TN.  Or the event planner in Boston, Mass who hit the jackpot and is now inundated with calls and emails from TMZ (I guess they forgot to google their baby’s name prior to announcing it).

I mean the one and only B.I.C – Blue Ivy Carter, daughter of Beyonce and Sean Carter (“Jay-Z”).

Blue Ivy is an interesting name you say?  Wondering how they came up with it?  Me too.  So here’s what I found:

“Sources and fans suggest the couple chose the name “Ivy” because of the number 4 or Roman numeral IV, which is significant in Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s relationship. Beyoncé’s birthday is Sept. 4, while Jay-Z’s is Dec. 4; they married on 4/4/08; they reportedly have matching “IV” tattoos on their wedding fingers; and Beyoncé named her latest album 4.  And the significance of the baby’s first name, Blue? Well, Jay-Z has three albums with the word “blueprint” in their titles: The Blueprint was released in 2001; The Blueprint 2: The Gift & The Curse, in 2002; and The Blueprint 3, in 2009.”

Though Jay-Z’s lyrics led us astray (“if we had a daughter, guess what I’m a call her Brooklyn Carter”), these two are no strangers to having names that mean something to them.  Jay chose his famous moniker after the subway line he grew up on – the Brooklyn bound J and Z.  Beyonce rose to fame in the group named after a page that fell open in the Bible as her mother pondered the perfect name for the girl group.  We should have expected something uber-symbolic from these two and they delivered.

Plus, I think “We-have-47-Grammys-between-us Carter” was probably too long.

Welcome to the Motherhood Beyonce!

Read em and sweep

After a week traveling around the tri-state area for the holidays, we arrived home yesterday.  By “home” I mean our tiny ‘sure-its-1000-square-feet-Mr.-Broker’, 2 bedroom apartment.  And by “we” I mean me, my husband, two kids, three suitcases and 47,000 bags of groceries, Christmas gifts and WHAT-THE-EFF-IS-IN-ALL-THESE-STUPID-BAGS-ANYWAY????

I am not known for being the most organized of people, but motherhood really helps with that.  I guess when you know you can’t get rid of your kids, you start skimming some of the stuff you actually care about.  Pre-kids, those bags might have sat there for weeks.  Definitely the suitcases.  But with Chloe on the move we need all the space we can clear.  As it is she can only crawl for 5 seconds without revealing yet another child endangering situation.

So I got to work while Ian distracted the kids.  I reorganized the cabinets to make space for all the new food.  I opened all the mail and sorted through bills, christmas cards and Val-Paks with frightening precision.  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I rearranged furniture to accommodate my kids new kitchen set.  I have no idea what came over me.  Everywhere I looked I saw opportunity for space.  I dominated de-cluttering.

And after that I cooked ordered dinner, bathed my kids and read to both of them – individually! – before bed (in light of this amazing tale, you will surely forgive me for putting Chloe back into the same clothes from before her bath — she was only wearing them for a few hours).

Tomorrow my paralysis in the face large tasks will likely return.  By morning light I will once again fail to even notice the 3-4 amazon boxes that have permanent residence in the corner of our entryway.  And yes, I will continue to be suspicious of any one who dusts the corners of their apartment.  But today, today, I was a good mom.

2012 scoreboard — Me – 1, Apartment – ZERO