NaBloPlace holder
In less than twenty-four hours I landed in San Antonio, went to a wedding with authentic Mariachis and an awesome country band, complimented the bride on her kicking cowgirl boots, had a mild fight with my husband, made-up (and out) with my husband, groused about people letting their three old’s run crazy in hotels at seven AM –like my own three year old has not done the same thing, walked barefoot back through security, and was in the air again on my way home.
It was what you might call a whirlwind trip, and you never even knew I was gone–but I was and now I am tired. Which means you get a cheater NaBloPoMo post tonight.
I have no idea who this kid is, or where he is–but I do know how this mama feels. Most people can spot a breastfed baby pretty easily, but this child makes it TOO easy!
Filed under Breastfeeding, NaBloPoMo, stupidity | Comments (2)Big Boy Party a Go-Go.
I have no idea what that title means. A go-go? What the hell is that? Anyway this post is about his weaning party and updates on how it is going since I have gotten 901 emails asking me.
We had talked about how he was going to be a big boy and do big boy things after his big boy party for over a month. The night before we talked about how in the morning when he came to my bed I would let him nur-nur but then that was all. No more.
The Husband grabbed the camera and got a few shots of the last session.
It was sweet, but not as sad as I thought it might be. I let him nurse as long as he wanted, but it was really only a few minutes.
His party started at 10:30 and I still had to decorate and pick up the cookie cake and wash glass pitchers so we did not lounge around, but got right up and went to work. That may have made me a teeny bit unhappy, but why drag out the hard stuff (are you a quick Band Aid ripper? I am. The Husband wants to take them hair by hair. I bet a psychology major could write a whole thesis on personality traits and band aid ripping.)
We had a milk and cookie theme for his big boy party. Our homemade ice cream fell through–but in the end the milk bar was such a success I was glad we did this instead.
Before I cut up the cookie, I read off the list of Big Boy things that The Son gets to do now and everyone cheered for him. Man, do I ever love those people.
The Milk bar included cow, goat, soy, rice, and hemp. None of the Huckablogs liked anything but the cow, but my sweet Hippie friends found some cool new ones they enjoyed. I put out tiny Dixie cups so people could try just a little.
One should always invite Shoeshe to parties like this. Her creativity is invaluable. I asked her to label the different kinds of milk and she gave each one a tag line, “Goat gets my Vote”, or, “Hemp not for a Wimp”.
I did just enough decorations to make it seem special. A little crepe paper and some signs was all.
I posted this sign on the door of the fridge, feeling very much like Martin Luther.
I also hung up This letter. It made my fellow nursing mamas all cry.
Then the kiddos all played on the Big Boy Swing Set that has been destroyed by weather TWICE this summer. It is still not complete, but it is slowly getting there.
Then he opened a couple of Big Boy themed gifts, like hard puzzles and easy reader books and that was it. All of the cookie was eaten and I sent all the non cow milk home with the LLLadies.
After the party The Son was tired so Shoeshe and I laid down on his bed with him, and she read him some stories. When she was done, he looked up at me and said, “Mama? Can I nur-nur?” “No, honey, you are a big boy now. All of Mama’s milk is gone.” “Well, can I try?” “Nope, sorry. But I will lay here with you for a while.”
I was REALLY glad Shoeshe was there right then. I think her support kept me strong. He went to sleep for the first time with me at home not nursing – ever.
When he woke up we took him to Build a Bear to make a big boy treat. I told him he could get WHATEVER he wanted. He made a dog whom he immediately named Philbert and refused to dress him. “Dogs don’t wear clothes Mama!” We got out fast and off cheap.
Then we had Sushi and came home and that was it. His Big Boy day was over.
Since then we have had to talk a few times about how he is a big boy and can’t nurse, and he has said he wanted to be a baby some, but quickly changes his mind when I remind him of all the things he would have to give up if he were a baby.
I have had a few minutes where I really just wanted to get him to sit still and cuddle, and felt a little sad, but really it has not been too bad at all. I was having more, “Man I want to be done” days than, “I love nursing so much” days for a good six months, so I sorta feel relieved.
There have been two weird things. Even though he will only whine when I say no for a few minutes, he BEGS to be able to “rub your nur-nurs Mama!” Um. Yeah. LLL assures me this is most normal, but it seems a little squicky to me so we are having to definitely set some limits there.
The other weird thing? I put big Band Aids over my nipples so that if he climbs into my bed while I am asleep he can not latch himself on. I could not find plain band Aids so Cookie Monster was guarding my left breast and Big Bird was protecting the right. And now my son hates Big Bird and Cookie Monster. I imagine his future shrink’s 401K is thanking me.
Filed under Breastfeeding, The Son, hostess with the mostess., lexapro lexplains it | Comments (3)Appetizer
I am working on details of the Big Boy Party and updates on how the weaning is going. (hint: weird) In the mean time….read why no one on my Christmas list will be getting any lined gloves or umbrellas or little slippers this year.
Filed under Breastfeeding | Comments (3)To Whom it May Concern: My Nursling on the 1,054th day.
Dear Son,
We have nursed at home in our bed, on couches, and on chairs. We have nursed in six countries, under the Eiffel tower, and in the shade of Blarney Castle.
We have nursed at a water park’s lazy river while lounging on an inner tube (that was my favorite), and in the hospital under an oxygen tent (that was my least favorite).
We have nursed in 12 states, at a college football game, in movie theaters, in a dozen parks, at the zoo, in the snow, in the sand, and in a tent. We have nursed by a fireside, in a hammock, at 31,000 feet, and in the middle of the Atlantic ocean.
We have nursed alone and in a circle with other nursing mamas. We have nursed when you were sick, when I was sick, and when we both were sick. I have nursed you without shame and with my head held high at stores, and at church–wherever you needed nur-nurs, caring more about you than what other people may have thought.
We learned to nurse together- standing, sitting, laying down, and with one of us standing on his head. We know how to nurse in a sling, in the bathtub, in the car, on a boat, and on a train.
Together we have nursed when I was happy and when I was sad–when you were happy and (rarely) sad.
My milk has fixed your ouchies, made you giggle, made you sleep, made you wake, made you well and made you grow and grow and grow.
Together we have made this nursing relationship last for three long very long kinda short years. We’ve made it through new teeth, stuffy noses, through thousands of miles traveled together, and seemingly a million twilight mornings. We even made it through me working for a year and having to pump gallons and gallons of milk.
I am proud of you–I am proud of me. And yet, it is time, it really is time, to be done. I am relieved. I am scared. I am thrilled. I am heartbroken. I am unsure of how to parent without this sure-fire fix, yet confident that we have developed the tools to figure it out.
Will you understand why I will say no when you reach for me? Will you know that I still love you with every atom, of every cell of my being? Will you still love me the same way you do now?
I was thinking about my first memory recently–it was when I was three years and one month old, the day your uncle was born. Will you remember any of our nursing? Will you grow to be supportive of your wife breastfeeding? Will you know that bottles are not should not be the norm? I don’t know. My crystal ball has never worked, but my faith does, and I have faith in us.
Thank you sweet boy.
Thank you for the countless nursey-naps where we drifted to sleep latched, where your warm little body eased against mine and your little lips released in a contented somnolent sigh, where the drop of milk on your chin rested and made your skin softer than could have been believed.
Thank you for smiling up at me while never releasing my breast. Thank you for stroking my hair, my face, my chest as you made your little nummy noises.
Thank you for teaching me about myself, about the gift of my body, about having confidence in what is right.
Thank you for being you, for letting me be me.
I love you forever and ever and ever so much bigger.
Mama
Filed under Breastfeeding, The Son, lexapro lexplains it | Comments (3)Big Boy Party (which is a not so cleverly disguised Weaning Party) is TOMORROW!
I have been nursing a human who can not only differentiate, but form a coherent opinion, on the pros and cons between blues and jazz.
This must end, and end it shall. TOMORROW!!
Everyone is invited for The Son’s BIG BOY party tomorrow morning. This is basically his weaning party with a more pre-schooler appropriate name. Come! Bring your children. Enjoy the milk bar. Congratulate The Son on being a Big Boy and me on having my breasts back. My house, 10:30 AM. Send me a tweet or email me for directions, heyyou at thehuckablog dot com.
Filed under Breastfeeding, Parenting for Dummies, The Son | Comments OffA weaning party in Genesis
Catch up with what Abraham and Sarah had been up to HERE.
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Genesis 21
The Birth of Isaac:
Now the LORD was gracious to Sarah as he had said, and the LORD did for Sarah what he had promised. Sarah became pregnant and bore a son to Abraham in his old age, at the very time God had promised him. Abraham gave the name Isaac to the son Sarah bore him. When his son Isaac was eight days old, Abraham circumcised him, as God commanded him. Abraham was a hundred years old when his son Isaac was born to him.
Sarah said, “God has brought me laughter, and everyone who hears about this will laugh with me.” And she added, “Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age.”
The child grew and was *weaned, and on the day Isaac was weaned Abraham held a great feast.
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*Isaac was weaned at age five according to most scholars. Way to work those old girls, Sarah!
(Read the rest of Sarah, Abraham, and Isaac’s story HERE)
Seven days
The Weaning Day is a week from today, so get ready for a barrage of breast feeding related posts. Today? A poem.
Published in S E G U L L A H, an LDS Publication (don’t ask why I am reading LDS poetry, I am still most Methodist — but man, those Mormons can WRITE.)
Milk and Blood
by Sharlee Mullins Glenn
I dreamed of Oxford . . .
(spires, a thousand spires, endless lectures, musty halls a solitary self in a Bodleian expanse. A good life my dear Wormwood. An orderly life.)
then awakened to laundry
and things to be wiped
(countertops, noses, bottoms)
How did this happen? And when, exactly?
Time flows, it flows, it flows
and there are choices to be made:
left or right?
paper or plastic?
blood or milk?
There’s freedom in the bleeding;
bondage in the milk—do not be deceived.
Ah, but it’s an empty freedom; a holy bondage,
A sweet and holy bondage.
Five times I chose the chains, those tender chains,
(though once will bind you just as well!)
and checked the crimson flow.
Suckled while dreaming of Trinity Term
but awakened, always awakened, to the laundry
and to that small and cherished captor at my breast.