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!

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.

Read HERE.

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

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.

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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)

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.

I have been cutting off my little “Nur-nur” addict s l o w l y and it is just plain time to be done already.   The original plan was to do Child Led Weaning, which means he chooses when he is done, but y’all, I know my kid and I seriously think he would nurse until middle school if I let him!

Here is the new plan.  We are pretty much down to two or three (okay three to four) nursing sessions a day and they (with exception of nap- I will do whatever it takes for him to nap) are only about two minutes long. This month we are going to cut out two full sessions, and get any others to less than a minute.

On Monday we went to Hobby Lobby and I let him pick out several scrapbook papers, then we bought a pair of safety scissors (only big boys get to use scissors) and worked together to make a paper chain–one link for each day until he is a “big boy”. We hung it up in our living room and remove a link a day. We also have let him help pick out a “big boy” bed, and are going to do some re-arranging in his room.

We talk everyday about all the cool things a big boy gets to do and how he will be a big boy when he stops nursing.  We have had a few instances of, “but I want to be a baby” but so far the elusive joys of big boydom seem to be winning.   On August 29 we are having a weaning party (NOT a birthday party even though it is just two days before he turns three) we will all congratulate him on being a big boy, will set up his new bed, will have over his friends (um, at least the children of my sweet hippie friends who are cool with coming to a weaning party) and will have yummy homemade ice cream (made with rice milk for previously mentioned hippie friends).

What do you think internet?  Anything else I can do to make this a gentle transistion for him?  Anyone ever been to a weaning party and have suggestions of what we need to do? If you are near home town and are cool with what we are doing, you should totally come! (8/29, 10:30 am)  Anyone appalled he is not weaned yet? Eh, get over it, nursing has been one of the best experiences of my life–has changed my life, and the way I think about my body.  But, I am ready to see what comes next.

2.   I am assuming this is not insider information, if it is– read fast because I will take this one off.    My Dad got laid off after working there since I was a sophomore in high-school.   I was concerned by this because every other time he has ever changed jobs it has meant a major move….and I want my family close!  Also, I so am not ready to be responsible for my grandparents.   Dad has already been contacted about some contract work and did get a decent severance package, so maybe he will just be able to be semi-retired and not much will change.

3.   JHJ also got laid off and is coming home.  I am thrilled because I have missed my brother, but sad that he does not really want to be here.  Vegas it is not.

4.   Someone has taught The Son to say “I want a sister.”  and I am not amused

5.   Someone (Gabs) also taught him to say “SHUT UP” and “That is STUPID”.   I am pissed.

6.   I have had this um…medical thing.  This girly medical thing that really made me (and a doctor) think that maybe I had miscarriage–and not have realized that I was even pregnant.  I have had two ultrasounds and about a gallon of blood work done and it has been determined that I was not pregnant (which Hallelujah because I was going to be all WTF Trojan!)  and have just had some um.. issues.   To solve this problem I have been given hormones.  Because I needed help on my journey to crazy town.    Hormones seem to be helping and it looks like I am going to be able to avoid a D&C.   p.s.  this has not been caused by extended breastfeeding.  No it has not.  I said NO.  Okay, maybe a little, BUT my OB said that she wishes that every one of her patients could nurse until their baby was 32 months, so *pfffzt*extended nursing for the win.

7.  I have had lots of inquires about The Husband since his accident.  He is still in physical therapy, and his shoulder still hurts some, but his rib seems to be all better.  We have not yet settled with the insurance company for his personal injury claim, we are waiting for him to be well so we know how much to settle for first.  Little work car is up and running, but looks flat out ghetto.   Oh, well, it is paid off and the money the insurance company gave us for it paid The Husband’s tuition.

8.   That’s all I’ve got people.  So, what has been going on with you?

Well the print version anyway, this is from Similac’s website.

You probably already know how I feel about formula in general; but really, could someone please tell me what Ty Pennington has to do with baby formula?  Nothing.  He just is greedy and takes any endorsement deal he can get. I am adding this to the official, “Why I can’t stand Gary Tygert Pennington” list.  I can just tell that you are dying  to know the rest of the list.  No?  Well sorry, this is all I have for you today.

1. Look at him:

This guy is 44 years old.  He has a not quite soul patch, not quite chinapillar.   He has said he goes to a spray tanning booth when he is not shooting, his hair…well, just look at it!  He is 44! I do like this jacket though, for me not The Husband.

2.  I met him once and he was a total egomaniac.  He was going from desk to desk signing autographs at our office.  I just shook his hand, and he seemed surprised I did not want him to sign my cell phone.   I was surprised because he was much shorter than he looked on TV, and his girlfriend just followed him around handing him sharpies, not talking and had an identical haircut.

3.  Speaking of his girlfriend, he cheated on Drea Bock, his girlfriend/manager of 11 years, with a stripper.  Ew.  I guess next he will be endorsing herpes medication.

4.  Even though he is more than capable of hiring a cab, he was arrested and convicted of DUI.  He apologized and Disney (who owns ABC, Extreme Home Makeover, and Ty) glossed over the whole affair.

5.  He is an endorsement whore.  Besides being Similac’s spokesperson (even though he has no kids! Nor any medical background to compare formula to breastmilk! Or a uterus!),he has also endorsed the ADHD medication Adderal (which he also takes ((which, by the way,  should not be mixed with alcohol)), the now defunct Furniture Unlimited, cell phones, Bayer aspirin, and of course Sears.  There may be more, but these are the only ones I could find.

6.  As we saw many times on Trading Spaces, and now on Extreme Home Makeover, his taste is marginal at best.  Look at his bedding line if you doubt me.  Do you know what he calls his “style” ( I am using that term loosely obviously)? Creativi-TY and sTYle.  Gag.

7.  He gets published when there are so many awesome writers who have to try for years to be read by a publisher.   He has written three books and now has a quarterly magazine.  How can you write that much about platform beds and mdf?

8. He is tacky.  He was asked to tone down all of the double entendres in a caulking chapter, and every book has a picture of him nude in the shower.

9.  Lastly, and this is more a negative of ABC than Ty, but he should know better, an Extreme Home Makeover makeover will add thousands of dollars in new taxes to the new homes they build—which, in all likelihood, the owners can’t afford.  They capitalize on an easy tear jerker, without considering the social consequences of erecting a Mcmansion that often towers over every other house on the block.   Extreme Home Makeover and Ty Pennington offer the shallow American dream,  leather sectionals, stainless appliances, whirlpools and half a dozen flat-screen TVs—all thoughtfully provided by the show’s sponsors.  They think this will bring happiness, no matter the affliction.

In other words, I would pick  Nate Berkus any day of the week  (even if he is Oprah’s lapdog).  For those of you who need more heterosexual and rugged eye candy than Nate can provide, might I suggest Mike Rowe?  (disclaimer:  I, myself,  like the more geeky, intelligent, cuddly sort, think The Husband) Mike is hard working, well read, and, when clean, down right yummy.