The End

Tonight marks the end of a beloved role, played off and on for the past 13 years.  As I held my baby and swayed back and forth before his crib, silent tears streamed down my cheeks.  Tonight is the official end of being a "nursing mother."  And I'll admit, it feels like the end of me in some ways.  An hour ago, as I stood by the crib and rocked, Davey nestled in with his head on my shoulder kicking back and forth in the way we call "happy feet."   

And I just soaked in the joy and pain of the moment.  The physical pain of closeness with engorgement was trivial next to the emotional pain I was feeling.  Part of me wanted him to lunge toward his crib as he often does when tired and part of me was grateful he didn't.   Honestly, I think his happy feet were more for the noise they made as they brushed against my jacket than for any understanding of the significance of the moment.  But as I lay him down, I lay down a piece of my heart. 

Last Saturday night, Davey woke up and I fed him without checking the clock.  I assumed it was our 5:00 am feeding.  The only feeding left in a long and uncommittedly drawn out "weaning" process.   It was 2:00 am.  So when I was done, I gave him to his dad and father put son back to bed.  At 5:00 am, when baby awoke, I told dad to handle it since "I had just fed him and I should probably stop nursing anyway."  I really just wanted more sleep.   And dad did it.  He walked that baby back to sleep and then when the baby got up for the morning around 6:30 am, he took him downstairs and fed him breakfast.  

Wow.  I thought.  If I do this again tomorrow, I could be done.  Now, no one is telling me I need to be done.  And baby Davey is NOT a needy nurser currently, which makes weaning all the more difficult.   He goes to sleep fine without it, unless I want a reason NOT to put my other kids to bed.  Then I can announce that "I need to nurse the baby," and escape to my quiet room with a child who sends pure love in his eyes and nursing smile while worshipping me as the sun, moon, and stars for a few blissful moments.  But babysitters have no trouble putting him down to sleep.  And I have gradually stopped all daytime feedings so nursing is really just there as an "option" for when I feel like feeding him or he really needs comfort or strength, etc.  

Except for at 5:00 am.  This feeding is all about my sleep.   My husband is often out of town and I am too exhausted to get up at that time of day, knowing that full chaos assaults with the 6:30 alarm.  And while I have stopped nursing during the day, Davey doesn't take a bottle and doesn't like milk or formula at all.  So it's water or juice or a mixture of the two at best, from a sippy cup that always leaks no matter how "spill proof."  And at 5:00 am the value and convenience of nursing is clear.  Baby right back to sleep.  Momma too.  Baby full of milk.  

Sunday I was extremely busy and I was not home around bed time to give any of this any thought.  Monday morning at 4:00 am the baby woke up screaming and I realized I had to make a choice.  When is enough for us?  Davey is just over 15 months old.  There is no harm in stopping and no harm in continuing.  In fact there are good reasons and benefits on each side and plenty of advice all around.  But I have learned from past experience that if you get this close to it, and you turn back, you may end up nursing a lot longer than you wanted too.  And if you feel like you've made a mistake... you can sometimes start again.  So, I let him scream.  He cried until 5:30 am when I finally got up and took him downstairs for breakfast.  

Monday night, a little tired and sore, I put him down again and wondered if I would really follow through.  I went to sleep early and we repeated the scene this morning.  Yesterday I was sore.  Today I could barely move my arms.  I admit, I am surprised how painful it is going from one feeding to none.  

And tonight, the finality of it all sunk in.  Last baby.  Last baby.  I will never nurse again.  I will never nurse this angel, whose survival has been so closely entwined with mine.  I remember the day he arrived back at Mount Auburn Hospital from Mass. General's NICU.  I swallowed up enormous guilt with my secret that I did not want him to come back so soon.  I was not ready to try to nurse him.  I couldn't stand the thought.  I was in so much physical and emotional pain over the labor and delivery experience that I felt a horrible sense of relief when they had taken him away and told me not to even think about pumping for the first 24 hours.  Just rest.  Best for your milk in the long run.  So when he surprised everyone and came back in less than three full days, I was terrified.  I had barely started pumping.  I was on codeine and Motrin every 4-6 hours.  I was in no mood to breastfeed.  What if I couldn't do it?  What if it hurt even worse than normal?  What if I had no milk since I had not been building up my supply?  

My friend Colleen was there and I asked her to say a prayer with me.  I prayed that I would want to nurse this baby and have the courage and capacity to do it.  Maybe I didn't say it like that but I thought it.  It was a long slow trip to the nursery.  And as soon as he latched on... we were alright.  All of the drama faded and there was only me and baby and love.  Relief flooded more than milk.  But I knew true healing had started.

My experiences nursing babies have been the good bad and ugly.  I literally have scar tissue still from my first child to prove it (and if you look under his tongue, so might he).  And although I have never felt like it was something I or anyone else HAS to do... I am lucky to say it has mostly worked for me.  In 1995 I wrote a somewhat bitter and now lost essay entitled, "My Life As a Beverage."  Between then and now, I have nursed babies in airplanes, restaurants, bathroom stalls, dressing rooms, park benches, and movie theaters.  I have answered the door with only one button done up accidentally.  I have left the grocery store with wet circles after someone else's baby cried.  And one of my sons spent months walking around with nursing pads tucked into the waist band of his pants so he could "nooz ma bebe" when needed.  And of course they always fell out in the most public of places.  

And now I'm done.  And this role is over.  And the world isn't.  My children love me.  I have times and seasons ahead full of new roles that I will learn to love as this one.  The physical pain is already easing up ever so slightly.  As I type my arms can brush my chest without needles stabbing me.   And I know what this means.  And I can't stand it.

Saturdays

So... today is Saturday.  That pretty much sums up the post actually.  My friend joked with me today that we should teach a course at the next BYU women's conference about choosing your spouse.   One of the premarital tests would be to borrow 4 active children AND their Saturday activity schedules and see how it goes.  You may make the same choice of spouse but at least you'd be going in with eyes open.

It's all about expectations right?  Each of us expects the world of Saturday.  Because Sunday is our Day of Rest, it all has to pack in to Saturday:  chores, home improvement projects, yard work, music, sports, birthday parties, baptisms, shopping, date night, etc.  Dave and I spend the week putting pressing needs into the Saturday to-do box only to find that Saturday barely allows us to chauffeur our kids to their obligations with mid- trip hand offs, clothes changes and water bottles in the cars, food for the road packed, etc.  By night, one glance at the untouched to dos makes us both a little depressed.  We are often not our kindest selves swimming through this either.  OK- for sure I am not.

On top of this, we are reintegrating our dad.  Reentry is always rocky here.  I take full responsibility for this.  I often ignite and nearly explode the foreign object as it bumps into our airwaves.  By the weekend we have worked into and with a routine that I have created all week long.  We know about the 10 minute tidy, what babies do and do not feed themselves, how and when we blast the music, turn on the TV or computer, which day is for sugar cereal, etc.  

Enter Captain Fun.  Dave is always super high energy (which causes a bounce in the atmosphere), happy to be home, and ready to go.  The routine of the day is a bit of a bummer and surprise.  It's Disneyland Dad meets Micro Manager Mom.  The result ain't pretty most days.  And it isn't that Disneyland Dad doesn't try.  He does chores, cheers for games, enforces rules, etc.  So I'm not sure why the disconnect.  All I know is that by Sunday night I seem more able to share the parental role without fear.  What am I afraid of?  Fun and chaos?  Is that really so bad?  As soon as I know or have a better guess, I'll write about it.  

For now, I just needed to state that another Saturday has been navigated.  I am always sad that I do so poorly.  The cost of my rigidity but be equal or greater to the cost of letting go.  It's just a difference of who pays.

Peas Anyone?

So today's first major negotiations revolved around piano lessons.  Zach protested then went.  

Mom- 1 Kids- 0  

Rex protested for 1hr 45 min last night and 5 more hard minutes today, but went.  

Mom 2- Kids- 0  

Served peas for dinner.  Zachary was shuddering them down.  Rex figured out if you close your eyes and plug your nose you just taste "squishy."  He shuddered three bites down and quit.  Calvin did three also.  When Zachary finished all of his, I announced that he could have three cookies for dessert (they had all already been told they could have one of the burnt cookies and one non burnt cookie after dinner).  But three cookies is practically unheard of around here.  Rex and Cal closed eyes and noses and finished theirs off.  

Mom- 5 Kids- 0 

Davey fed his to the dog.  Jake threw his up.  Then he decided he can't eat pizza, only crust and threw a fit that no one would eat the pizza off his crust.  Everyone volunteered but I didn't let them do it.  If you only eat the crust then you only eat the crust but we weren't playing anymore dinner games.  He hasn't eaten it yet so I've told him he can only have one cookie.  This is when I decide to come type this up quickly.  He is still crying as I type.

Mom 6- Kids 0

Sissy threw up  a little but ate her peas anyway with plenty of OJ to wash it down and Lamaze style breathing and distractions.  After gagging up and still swallowing the last two bites I let her quit with 5 peas in her cup.  I snuck her a third cookie when no one was looking (Kids- 1).   Jake is wailing "It's not fair" over and over and this is what my kids are telling him:  "If life was fair you'd be in a wheelchair and eating dirt.  Living in a cardboard box.  No? It's true just go to Africa.  China.  No Africa.  They live in hundreds of them."  Hmm. I should add that to the therapy journal.

Jake just showed me that he ate his pizza so I let him have a second cookie.  Not the three that required the peas though.  As he took the second cookie, this is what his older brothers are saying: Zach: "Did you whine your way into getting two?" Rex: " Yep- he got two."  Darn.

Mom- 6 Kids 2

Yes We Can!

Today may be one of the most important days of my mothering life so far.  I woke my kiddos up at 6:15 and told them to get dressed and come down stairs for breakfast and something important.  They knew that the something important was NOT the breakfast.  They had to already be questioning if an alien had taken over their mother's body (I used to have that nightmare as a kid) because I was cheerfully waking them up.  Some kind of hot breakfast would have sent them calling 9-1-1  and we can't have that.  

Calvin had to be carefully forewarned of what was coming.  He was our main McCain supporter and I didn't want him to have his first reaction in the public eye.  I told him that Obama had won the election for president and that McCain had given a very important speech that I wanted him to watch.  I told that even though he wanted McCain to win, there were reasons to be proud to be an American Citizen and that we would talk more downstairs. I told him that McCain had good advice for him.  Nurturing comes with a 2-3 minute time limit here so that was that.  And I told him to get his tail downstairs before I lost the crowd.

I then gave my kids my own emotional response to what they were witnessing in history today.  I reminded them of my grandfather who had to go to the "reservation school" because he was Native American.  How he hid my Native American roots from me for most of my life so that my opportunities wouldn't be restricted.  How he was a patriot who gave his all at Pearl Harbor and helped save lives valiantly because he was an American.  I told them the story of Teddy Roosevelt inviting Booker T. Washington to the White House since I knew that part of McCain's speech wasn't yet available online (or I couldn't find it).  Then, I had them watch the part of McCain's speech that I could find on CNN and then all of Obama's speech.  I couldn't hide my emotions on the subject.  

Mostly, I want these kids to care and work for this country.  Care to solve problems, care to educate themselves, care to sacrifice and work for their ideals.  I showed them evidences of John McCain's caring and gave examples of others who have cared enough to make a difference in creating a better place to live.  And we are the beneficiaries of that caring.  I highlighted the part of Obama's speech where he talked about America's greatness being not because of her wealth and military strength but because of her ideals and her dedication to liberty, democracy, etc.  I let the drama of campaign speeches wash over my kids not because I necessarily think Obama will do a great job; that's a follow up lesson for later.  But because I wanted them to fuly feel the emotional impact of possibilities and E PLURIBUS UNIM in this country.

Poor Zachary almost missed the middle school bus.  But his eyes were gleaming.  

I don't care what your politics are, as US citizens and especially as parents I feel like this is a day that HAS to be emphasized for good.  Healing on the issue of race may be a precedent for less bigotry based on religion which my children and I experience either directly or indirectly as we live our lives Mormon.  I weep thinking about Jesse Jackson's face during the speech, about Martin Luther King, about Rosa Parks and the people I saw in South Africa as I worked in Alexandra Township.  

Do I know if Obama can change anything as president, as the realities of steering an enormous bureaucracy hit and the campaign rhetoric fades... as the weight and responsibility of "two wars" and "economic crisis" sink in... as the price tag for all of his great educational, medical, and social promises rings at the register... well YES... in my house he already has.