The men are in hiding.
Count Waffles the Terrible is sleeping in a tent in the living room.
The Kaiser has been on the couch.
Houseboy (my brother) took the day off work after a 3am scream session had him tossing and turning.
She pouts. She pleads. She even tries to buy some breast time with kisses.
But the pouting only lasts so long and the sweeter-than-honey attitude is dropped when she asks for a snack, and when given a snack decides its not good enough. The Kaiser had to duck as orange slices wizzed past his head. I nearly lost an eye today to olives.
Weaning. Good times. Gooooood times.
Did I mention my tits are the size of my head? Oh, and hard as bowling balls? And not even regular bowling balls-but those rock ones Fred Flintstone bowled with.
And the bandaid? That serves TWO purposes…she understands the “bup” is “all gone” and they have “boo boos” and it also keeps her from latching-on unexpectedly in the middle of the night or otherwise. They leave lovely skin tears on my nipples.
I’ve also been close to vomiting from the pain. And just reaching for cereal today made me cry.
I haven’t even tackled the emotional part of this yet. This is my last baby. I am done breastfeeding forever.
By far, breastfeeding was the most amazing part of my motherhood experience. These children were attached to me and part of me in so many ways for so very long. But I don’t have time to think about any of it. I don’t have time to be sad or to get weepy. This has to be done. And it has to be done now, not the night of my surgery. I can’t, as a decent mother, leave my unweaned child with her Nana and Daddy to fend for herself while I lay in a hospital for several days. I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I would be so worried.
No. I have to do this myself. I have to make sure she’s ok. I have to make sure she can go to bed and drink enough milk and be stable before I am admitted. I just have too.
I’ll deal with the sadness and mourning later. I’m sure there will be much crying. I’m sure I’ll freak out on my poor husband at some point. I have no doubt I’ll pick up stray dogs and cats from the freeway. If only I see some. I always HOPE to see some so I can save them, yet never do.
It’s a good thing spring is coming. I need to grow something. Anything. Weeds. I need to cry and plant and dig and wonder about all the babies I never had. About all the things I could have done. About all those tiny hands and feet and lips that will never suckle from my breast.
I don’t think I’m particularly good at this Mother thing. I don’t think I’m bad, either. But what I do think, down to my very core, is that it is what I am supposed to be doing. What I was meant to do. What I am here to do. And while there is still much work to be done, a very large part of those early years are officially gone. I don’t know if I thought there would be small ones around here forever-if I would always need the nursing pillow or the tiny, tiny diapers. Or the tiny nose sucker thing. Or those little nail clippers.
It all became such a huge part of my life that I never stopped to think it would soon be gone.
I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to do any of this. I want to peel off this bandaid and bring joy to my daughter and myself and let the milk flow. In many ways, it’s like letting the baby years flow. Just drag them out.
I had to trade in the Johnson&Johnson Babywash for real kid shampoo recently, and it nearly killed me. I miss that smell. I miss they way they looked at me while nursing. I miss the way I could pat their heads or play with their hair or pick their noses while they sucked. They would stay still. And we would just be.
Now she’s mad and everywhere. Healthy, but annoyed. He’s so confident and strong. He asks big boys to play and plays along even when they don’t want him around.
It’s funny. I started posting to try and amuse you and myself with the fun around here. And somehow I just got very…well, whatever. At least I can admit I really like showing the internet my boobs. If only I were 10 years younger I would show you everything. Inside and out. That’s just me.
Surgery is on the 30th. I have no doubt my strong daughter will have no trouble with any of this by then. She’s like that.
Me.
I’m not so sure.
Oy. I just came over to quickly update my RSS reader and…well, now I’m teary. Thanks a lot. I, as you know, am SO not looking forward to that day. You’re a good mama. And I simply love that you showed the internet your boob. You rock.
Sending healing thoughts your way about the soreness and your upcoming surgery. Take good care of yourself and I hope you are better soon.
Big hugs.
Not much else to say…
so understand what you’re talking about. It’s teary making every step of the way, but still worth it!
Hey, you’ll be fine. Sure, it is sad to look at how things are changing and the kids are growing up so fast and you won’t have little little ones anymore, but that’s what nostalgia is for! It’s to remember the great things but gloss over the less than fantastic ones. Right?
As for the pictures, I do hope that you get some pictures out of the surgery that are postable. Then you really can put up pictures of your inner you. It was my favorite part about having an endoscopy last fall. Who wouldn’t want to see my GI tract? Well, I hope I get to see your neck and thyroid.
My daughter has grown past three sizes of infant clothing since she as born. Each size, I cry. Her new “bigger” carseat was installed and I cried. New teeth and I cried. (Not because she bit my nipple.) Now nursing her these last few months before the end, I can’t stop starring at her. These moments are so few in the grand scheme of things. I can’t help but soak it up.
You’re right to be gushy. Babies are only babies for so long. It’s sad.
Hang in there.
This is why grandchildren are so spoiled.
And just where, praytell do you think your daughter got her strength??
I’m proud of you hon, this is hard, really hard. You’re going to be fine. My mom always told me that it was the stuff that our children will never remember that make us good parents. I think this is one of those times.
That’s so rough. I’m watching Cordy grow into a little kid right now, and I so want her to be a baby forever. But at least I have another on the way to give me that baby fix. However, I know this is likely to be our last, so I’m trying to enjoy every aspect of pregnancy, and then babyhood, as much as possible. I dread getting to that day as well.
Change sucks, eh?
Take some anti-histamines to dry up you milk. It works. Hand express enough to relieve severe engorgment and wear a good bra without underwire. You should beware of symptoms of mastitis..i you get an infection, you can’t have surgery.
Good luck
former LLL leader and BFing mama.
Hang in there, Erin. I know this time sucks for you and that it’s sooooo freaking painful to wean (physically and emotionally). But you’re right — it’s better to do it now than leave her high and dry when you’re in the hospital.
Reading this made me a little jealous (not of the weaning!) because I never had a good breastfeeding experience. Despite calls to La Leche League and visits to the lacatiation specialist, we never got the hang of nursing. I continued for as long as I could hack it, but it was miserable for both of us. The day I decided to go to bottle was the worst day of my life. I cried and felt guilty for hours. I just wish that I could have enjoyed it like so many mother have! Be thankful for those times you did have, I guess that’s the point I’m trying to get across!
Cookies forthcoming, on the 30th.
And I think your boobs are bigger than mine. That’s some sort of record for natural tits. I showed everyone at work, and they agreed.
I always feel like people meet each other for a reason. Either you need me, or I need you, or we both need each other. I need to thank Izzy for sending you to me! I was in the exact same situation almost two years ago. I was weaning my last baby before my thyroid surgery because I had cancer. It was one of the scariest times in my life. I feel like going through it all made me a very strong person. I wouldn’t wish the experience on my worst enemy, but after you are done, we’ll have to start some kind of thyroidless weaning women club or something. If there is anything I can do for you, please ask. I mean it. I would love to help someone not be as terrified as I was!
the one reason i resisted having kids was because they break your heart. every day. it’s so painful.
and i haven’t weaned my two year old because – well, because of what you said.
everybody loves you and understands. you are so not alone. xo.
Surfing in from B.E. and delurking to wish you well – these days are the toughest – but, thanks for sharing your boobs ;o)
Poor Queen! I well remember the pain of weaning. Sage tea is supposed to help. I drank gallons of it- don’t know that it helped any though.
Praying they are able to get your head sewn back on your body with no problems! 🙂
This is one of those posts that tears me up about having children. I don’t want to go through the physical pain of labor, breastfeeding, flying toys, etc. nor the emotional pain of watching them grow up. But I do want to go through the joy that all that pain brings.
oh wow – i am sarah’s sister in law (goon squad sarah), i stumbled upon your blog and i am so touched by what you wrote. weaning my daughter was so heartbreaking for me too. in fact, i’m 4 months pregnant now, and i’m already looking forward to nursing again, i can’t wait, i feel that i weaned my daughter too early, last time, and i don’t want to do that again. i feel your pain!!! but i guess all moms go through this at some point. good luck!
(((((HUGS))))) to you!
I need to go back and read, but our daughters look very similiar in age. Mia will be 3 in March, and she is still nursing a bit….maybe 1-3x each day. I have spent the night away from her, and it is honestly okay. She drinks Rice milk, and even though she goes a day or 2 without nursing here and there, I still have some milk, and I don’t pump or anything. It is really wonderful this way, as I have some of my freedom and she can still nurse a bit when she wants.
I hope you are feeling better!
Oh my goodness I can’t believe you’re MIA. This must be truly horrilbly bad. I know you don’t know me but big big hugs Erin. (((((HUGS)))))
I only nursed for six months and when Dawson decided he didn’t want to nurse anymore, the emotional whirlwind was so overwhelming that I went to see a psychiatrist. I felt so guilty for stopping yet relieved at the same time. My husband thought I was overreacting but I felt like my world was crashing down. The worst part is I still miss nursing. Terribly. I miss that tiny baby closeness….
I’m envious that you could nurse as long as you did.