We Rock

I walk the narrow strip between the crib and the rocker.  Freddie is perched on my shoulder trying to catch his breath from the latest outburst.  Every few moments he pushes against me, cries out in anger and repositions himself in my arms before collapsing in exhaustion.

I walk back and forth, back and forth singing and humming his favorite song...Baby Beluga.  My back is screaming and my arms are sore, but Freddie doesn't like to rock if we're not nursing.  And we are. Not. Nursing. Period.

I am at war with myself right now.  This has been going on for over an hour. 

The comforting female in me cries "He's so young and this is obviously wrong because he's fighting it so much!"

The logical woman in me screams "It's not like I'm weaning, he just needs to find another way to go to sleep.  No more night nursing."

The selfish girl in me whines "Oh my, this is just like Ainsley.  Hours and hours of torture to get a kid to sleep. This can't be happening again."

The tired mommy in me yawns "I just want to go to bed.  Can he just sleep with me tonight and we'll try again tomorrow?"

Freddie has been silent for a few moments.  I wonder if he's asleep but can't see his face.  I make my way to the rocking chair and sit down slowly.

He fusses in protest but only for a moment.

I rock and sing.  I rock and hum.  I rock and stroke his hair.  I rock and kiss his cheek.  I rock and whisper "I love you, mommy's here."  We rock and rock and rock.  His eyes are closing but I can tell he's still alert.  His body is still at attention.

His face screws up and he releases a husky moan.  He is 24 pounds of rage and fury.  Fists push against my chest.  Toes scrape at my thighs.  He cries and yells "Baba! Baba!"  He wants to nurse and I want to give in.

I close my eyes and count to ten.  At the end of this breather, I'm giving in.  I don't care what anyone says. This is just too hard.  It's so much easier to just nurse him.

When I open them, he is changed. 

His face has become soft and his lips are slightly parted.  His rigid body has succumbed and gone limp against me.  His eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, tickling my collarbone.  His feet and hands dangle and twitch now and then.  His breathing is deep and smooth.  No more hiccups, no more gasping, no more screaming for Muma.  He is my perfect boy and all at once relief and sadness wash over me. 

I didn't give in, tomorrow night should be easier, but my baby is growing up so fast. 

I hold him for longer than I should.  I smell his sweetness and watch the corners of his mouth twitch before placing him in his crib.

I walk out of the room thinking about how easy it would be to keep doing all the things that keep him small and young and dependent on me.  Things that would keep him at my side always and keep my heart from breaking.  Things that would keep these little moments at bay and unnoticed forever.  But then, I wouldn't be his mother.

Boob Man

I breastfed Ainsley until she was almost 15 months old.  Mostly I did this because I couldn't bare the thought of not nursing her.  If you know me, you know that I. LOVE. Breastfeeding, and I have been lucky.  It has come relatively easy for me.  Also, I am well endowed in the milk department.  So I've never had to supplement.  Even if I've felt like my production was dipping or I was going to be away for a weekend, I could always pump it up again.

However, when Ainsley was about 14.5 months old I went out to dinner with some friends for my birthday.  At that point I was only nursing her before bed and when I pumped that night, I didn't even get one ounce, so I decided it was time to move on.

This time, with Freddie, I have not worried about the timeline.  I haven't obsessed over whether or not I'd make it a year, I haven't wondered how long I would go, I haven't thought much about it.  Until now.

Freddie will be 13 months old soon...and there is not a breastfeeding end in sight.  I'm not necessarily saying I want to stop, because I don't think I'm quite there yet.  He's still such a baby to me and even though Clif and I both want another child, that may not happen for awhile given our current financial and living situation.  So, he will be my baby for awhile and I'm cool with that.  However, this weekend I went out of town for the night and I was able to pump 8 ounces still!  At 13 months!  I was shocked.  Which means Freddie is still drinking a lot of breast milk.

He's a little more aggressive with his want for the boob than Ainsley ever was.  I'm thinking maybe it's a boy thing.  You see those babies pulling at their mother's shirts?  They're boys...and that is Freddie.  You see babies throwing fits in public when they want to nurse?  They're boys...and that is Freddie.  You see babies trying to suckle through their mother's shirts?  They're boys...and that is Freddie.

I've been trying to slowly wean...not completely, but at least lessen the number of times he nurses.  For instance, I'd really like him to stop nursing in the middle of the night...not that this is a huge problem.  I'd say he sleeps through the night about 85% of the time, but when he wakes up, he wants the boob.  I've been really good about not giving in, and after a tough couple of nights, he seems to have accepted that.

But then last night...

He could not be soothed.  He could not be calmed.  He screamed for over an hour.  So, I gave in.  I was so tired and looking at only 4 hours of sleep, so I put him in bed with me and let him nurse.  I'm pretty irritated with myself, since we had been doing so well for 2 weeks...but I just couldn't take it anymore.

So I guess we're starting over again...I think I'll probably wait until after this coming weekend, when I will be out of town again.  I'm pretty sure that's his trigger for ULTRA nursing.  He doesn't get it for a solid 24-48 hours and he must make sure that the boobs are mommy is never out of sight again!

Wish me luck...