Permissive

In an effort to emotionally de-funkify myself, I've been trying to unthink of myself as a breastfeeding mother. Since I first became pregnant in January 2008, I have adjusted my body to accommodate Snippet. For nearly two-and-a-half years I have monitored the general intake of ten million little things---food, booze, caffeine, medications, etc, admitting some, denying many, or imprisoning them to a clock or strict portion control. I have restricted my activities to suit his nursing schedule, and limited my wardrobe for his sake (e.g. the hideous nursing bras I wore in the early days when my chest was a double-D, the many blouses that I couldn't wear because they flashed too much boob while nursing in public, etc.)

That's not to say that I was ever resentful about foregoing these things. Occasionally I longed for that second glass of Pinot Noir, or the cute little bra that actually had an underwire, but I never felt gyped. I was trading all the fun and convenience for moments with Snippet that will forever warm my heart and memory. I would do it a thousand times over for him, and would happily be doing it still, if he showed any interest. But, he doesn't. We're at 17 days weaned, and he hasn't shifted his resolve one bit. My body is still holding out hope, leaking little milk droplets when I rock him to sleep at night, but I'm not in any pain. The pumping that I did during those first 10 days helped wind things down so that stopping altogether was met without angry engorgement. My body seems to be making the transition so much more quickly than my mind.

To help re-create myself, I thought it worthwhile to draft a list of the many small ways that my life will be different.....er, similar, to something from several years ago. My pregnant/breastfeeding rules and guidelines became so strictly lodged that I'm still making decisions based on that protective instinct that I nailed into place. Getting past that wall means making a list of permissions:

1. I can drink coffee any time, any place, and in ridiculous quantities. No more limiting myself, or restraining the gag reflex while sipping a decaff latte.

2. I can drink alcohol, and a get a little irresponsible about it. No more slowly sipping a few precious ounces of red wine, or (as I did when pregnant) licking the inside of Jake's empty Patron shot glass.

3. I can indulge in the heavenly headache relief of Excedrin. No more lying to myself while I swallow the sugar pill known as Tylenol.

4. I can (and did, today!) renew my birth control pill prescription. VCF wasn't bad, but the effective percentage always made me a little nervous. I've been living six years hormone-free, and while I haven't missed the chemicals, I'm just not taking any chances.

5. I have packed away the nursing bras with the maternity clothes, and resurrected my old favorite simple bra with the pink trim. (Though, imagine my surprise to find it's too big......there has definitely been some shrinkage from all the suckage.) I predict some kind of dainties shopping spree later in the year.

6. I can go places at night. At around 15 months, Snippet finally started sleeping through the night about 50% of the time. However, my Ped's (irritating) prediction came true: Snippet has slept completely through the night, every night, since he stopped nursing. So, I can do things without worrying that my services will be summoned and I will not be there to answer the call.

This is the most I can un-think at the moment, but if you know of others, please remind me!

No Parley

Yesterday, on Day 10, I decided the nursing strike was over.

Over, because it no longer fit the definition of some temporary, sluggish but shifting, obstacle for clearing. Instead, it had become solid, immense, permanent. Without any discussion of terms, Snippet has resolutely declared our nursing relationship terminated. He is immovable in this.

I finally decided to stop offering and stop pumping after he injured his hand on Sunday. He was playing with his favorite toy---a rather heavy, miniature metal shopping cart. He loves to zoom all over our undersized-house-for-zooming, and frequently trips with it while in mid-dash. On Sunday, he got going pretty fast, and tipped it as he fell, causing the cart to fall on his hand. He screamed and clutched his bleeding hand, already swollen with its nearly instant flood of purple bruises on the non-bleeding fingers. I carried him to the sofa and offered to nurse, as I always do when he hurts himself. It is the instant comfort, the non-verbal reassurance that he is okay and I love him and will help him. It is his favorite coping mechanism. Yet, when I offered, even in his pain, with tears sitting on his cheek, he had the clarity of mind to recall his new aversion to nursing. He would not be comforted. At least, not in that way.

Karen asked in the comments of my last post whether Snippet and I were working out new means of comfort. We are, though I am awkward with them, feeling clumsy and reluctant to try other methods. Instead of nursing for comfort that day, he wanted to lay his head on my left shoulder and soak my shirt with tears, snot and drool. He clutched at my shirt with his hands, wringing them on my sweater until the pain began to subside. It only took him a few minutes until he had reached a miracle recovery, and was off creating toddler chaos in some other new way.

I am much more at a loss when it comes to inducing sleep for him. We have always nursed to sleep, despite the chastising I have received about it from doctors, family and friends. He loved it, and so did I, so I was willing to forego my own uninterrupted nights to keep sleep peaceful for him. Now that he will not nurse to sleep, I sing softly to him while he drifts off. I sing in our nursing chair, in the nursing position, while he reclines on the old, reliable Boppy pillow, now stretched out of shape and lumpy from 18 months of heavy use. He seems to like the old routine, but without the comfort of warm milk. It feels strange to me to be doing these familiar things with something so essential missing. I find myself becoming sad in the dark sometimes, and my singing becomes choked. In those moments, it feels like he has broken my heart for the first time.

Toddler Nursing Strike, Day Six

Snippet has never been on an official nursing strike before, for which I have always felt so lucky. When he was around 8 months old, he skipped a few sessions during a bad teething spell, but he never went an entire day.....let alone six days.

The mayhem started last Friday, when the teething pain from his lower left canine was reaching full summit. He nearly stopped eating for several days, and abruptly stopped nursing. When he would try to latch on, he would suddenly jump away from me like I had poked him with a live wire. After a day of this, he started having really dramatic reactions to my offers, squirming and pushing at me with both hands, and once almost hitting the floor in his attempt to wrestle off my lap. I keep offering at our usual times, and he steadily refuses. The past few days, he has taken to quietly and resolutely pursing his lips together and just stares off over my arm. He won't even make eye contact.

I try to act nonchalant in response to his rejections, saying a happy, carefree, "Okay! Next time, then." La Leche League advises me to contain my feelings of sorrow and loss, to pretend as though his rejections mean nothing at all, as though he has politely declined, much as a customer would toward a waiter offering the evening's specials: "No, thank you, ma'am, I'm just not in the mood for filet, prepared in any sort of way."

I always took Snippet's hatred of whole milk in stride since he was still nursing regularly, but after a few days of the strike, I started to panic about the loss of all those good fats. In desperation, I bought a big container of Ovaltine and mixed it halfsies with pumped breastmilk and whole milk. Snippet's first sip brokered a grimace and a tossing of the sippy cup. Each day since, though, he has become a little more tolerant, drinking 3 ounces this morning. I am hopeful that even that little bit will help supplement him through this phase.

And, Yes, I hope with all my heart that this is just a phase---a terrible, brief phase. Just last week, I would call to him from the sofa, "Do you want milkies?" and he would happily come toddling over with a big smile, clutching his nursing blankie. He would continue to nurse, long after my dwindling milk supply had emptied out. I always, always had to unlatch him before he would detach himself. How could this same child, literally overnight, reject this activity that he once so loved?

I am pumping milk on our normal schedule, hoping to keep things just as they were, should he decide to return to nursing. It gives me some consolation to provide breast milk for him in a sippy, and makes the hideous routine of pumping feel practical and full of purpose (rather than a desperate bit of denial.) I have read online that strikes can last from a few days to 4-6 weeks. Each story I read detailing a 30-day strike ending in a happily reunited mother and child pair keeps me hopeful that our story will end just as sweetly. But, for each of those stories, I read ten that tell of abrupt endings, never repaired. I want him to return to nursing, even if he decides to self-wean just a few weeks later. I want him to leave nursing happily, not painfully. It's not that I want to nurse him forever---I just don't want it to end like this.

Passing It On

The Great Giveaway went pretty great. The guy showed up right on time, and was chattering the moment he stepped out of his car onto our driveway. He was overflowing with excitement and anxiety about his and his wife's expectant child, due via a birth mother in October. He said they were an infertile couple who were approached by a pregnant friend who could not parent her child, and requested that they adopt the baby. He was extremely happy about the idea of parenthood, but feeling overwhelmed by the preparations. He was obviously pleased with the baby gear I was giving away and babbled in monologue the entire time as he wondered aloud how each thing worked and how it would best function in their home. This unscripted behavior convinced me that he, his story and his need were legit, which alleviated my suspicions, and my sadness. It felt great to be helping this new family get themselves assembled, and I wished right along with him that the next six months would quickly pass. He decided against some of the larger items for bigger babies because he was concerned about limited space in their apartment, so I posted them back on Freecycle and quickly placed them with other takers. We only had one taker no-show out of the whole bunch. Overall, it was a great first Freecycle experience, and I'm already searching for other things we can no longer use, but would hate to throw away. (Hmm.....How about that well-intentioned, but currently very dusty, bread machine wedding gift?) Truthfully, there are also a few Snippet Reserve Items (JJ Cole BundleMe, for starters) that I just couldn't part with, for whatever ridiculous reason, so I have stashed them in inappropriate places throughout the house until I can summon the courage to let them go. Next up on our big spring purge will be Snippet's little-baby toys, since he only uses most of them now as grenades to be launched across the room when in mid-tantrum.