Weaning Mom

Sunday morning was the last time that Jack nursed. I only wish I knew it then. Driving home from Tacoma that night, I got hit with one of the worst flu/colds I've had in a while. I swear, I could actually feel the germs taking over; it was like a planned attack. They were all waiting in their bunkers, listening to my thoughts. "We'll be moving this time next month, that is, if Ed gets this fellowship, which we find out tomorrow, I need to get a job, we need to find a place to live, what about the cats, oh, should probably pay some bills, wait, is that my throat getting sore? oh, and why am I shaking so much?" Ed & Jack opened the apartment door, I stumbled through and barely kissed Jack goodnight before crashing into bed, delirious with tears and a fever. I had no healthy space to worry about whether or not Jack would miss nursing right before bed.

Apparently, he's fine. Ed's been getting him up in the morning (the other time he used to nurse) and putting him to bed. I got Jack up this morning and he showed no interest in nursing- to my slight shock. I guess I'm the one who needs the real weaning. I just wish I knew Sunday morning that that was the last time- so much so that I'm seriously considering going back to nursing (if Jack'll take me) just for a week so I can cherish it. But, then I've realized how precious the last few weeks have been since we've been on basically a schedule of habit rather than nutritional need.

I keep thinking about the Friday night months ago when Jack was still sleeping in our bed and how he would nurse and nurse and nurse and nurse forEVER and how I finally couldn't take it anymore, and got up, crying, desperate, leaving Jack with Ed and went and called my mom and sister, crazy with the need to have my body back. Both very sympathetic, my mom compassionately laughed, finally able to "let me in" on the kind of complex, intense emotions that come with motherhood (parenthood). Back then, I couldn't WAIT to have MY breasts back (despite jack's clear possession of them). Any nursing mother knows exactly what I mean.

When I first found out I was pregnant, a friend of mine emailed me saying that kids bring out the extremes of ALL your emotions: love, anger, exhaustion (yes, exhaustion is an emotion), whatever. She couldn't have been more right. Here am I now, not five months after my breast-breakdown, and I am craving the lost nursing time. It's definitely not like Sesame Street where you're either "sad," "happy," or "mad." Having kids blends all the emotions even more than they were by just living an adult day-to-day life. Just trying to articulate the feeling that sums up how proud I am of Jack for not being clingy and riding the transition so well, how short my breath is drawn when I remember that we won't nurse again-ever, how nice it is knowing there are other ways to be close, and how great it will be that Ed and I can take turns sleeping in now- well, that's no easy task. I do enjoy trying to find the language for it all, though. But mostly, I'm grateful that I have so many (good) feelings to try and express.

Car. Truck. SUV?

Jack and I take at least one walk a day- with or without the stroller. He is starting to become particularly interested in vehicles. He knows what a bus is and I think he's learning to distinguish the "big" trucks. I say "car" as the typical corollas and civics drive by, but I'm not sure how much detail I should relay for those vehicles not clearly a "car" or a "truck." For instance, mini-vans. Should I say "van?" After all, what makes a truck a truck is its size or the open back. What about SUV's- they are pretty much a car, but the size factor leans towards truck. And, don't even get me started on the PTg Cruisers. A "SUV car?" maybe. It probably doesn't matter all that much now. I'm just trying to keep things simple, yet honest. I'm sure he'll learn soon enough all the varieties of cars, trucks, whatever. Much like his cousin, Elijah, seemed to learn all the different kinds of dinasours before he was four.

Croup

Last night Jack fell asleep and within two hours started barking. He sounded like the baby in "Terms of Endearment." You know- the scene where Debra Winger's character is up with the baby in the bathroom while her husband (can't remember the actor's name) tells her they need to move to a new town for his job. What an odd coincidence. Anyway, we knew Jack wasn't feeling good because the other night he sat on Ed's lap for about twenty minutes (unprecedented) and just sucked on his blanket. Poor little guy. Poor me. I'm grading SAT essays online this week and next trying to earn a lot of extra money for next month, plus finish grading essays and final grades for my online class. The nurse suggested sleeping in Jack's room for a few nights just be sure he could breathe. I can't imagine. Thank goodness the monitor is a viable option. I keep trying to remember all that is good- and so much is. Our stress derives purely from choices WE'VE made in life-- not seemingly random events that would allow us to soak in victimhood. And our stress is what "they" call good stress: balancing a loving family with available work, planning for a move that will help Ed fulfill his dreams, feeling both exhausted and invigorated by my renewed trips to the Y for spin and pilates classes, oh yeah- and helping a croupy Jack through the days (grump!) and nights. I would hate to see how we'd react if something happened that made us see that we really have no control over life's events.

We really are trying to avoid the nickname "mini-Ed."

Memorable Day

Jack took six "free" steps on Memorial Day. Nana Kingston set him down in the grass (standing) and he walked to me. It was amazing. Ed, concerned with his ribs on the Q, missed it. But, Jack was gracious enough to provide an instant replay so daddy could see. Since then he hasn't been as interested in walking; I bet he thinks the crawling is much faster. I'm sure it won't be long now before he's running after the cats.

A few months ago there was a Parenting magazine article about "letting go." The beginning of the article wrote about the pangs of realizing a child could fall asleep without your help (that they didn't need mommy or daddy as much). At the time (when Jack was probably still only falling asleep when I laid down with him-- and stayed in bed with him-- at around 9:00 PM), I literally guffawed. I always read about the guffaw, but until I imgained parents bemoaning their child's ability to fall asleep without them, I hadn't actually let out a true "guffaw." And, when Jack finally did realize that he didn't need me or daddy to fall asleep by himself in his crib, I did not feel any tug on my apron strings. In fact, I think I jumped for joy for a week or so.

Yet, when Jack took those six independent steps the other day, I felt an ever so slight twang. I realized that yes, one day Jack wouldn't need me at all. Sure, he'll always love me (I hope) and we'll be there for him whenever he needs it (maybe not in the way he wants us to be there- but we'll be there), but bit by bit, he'll distance himself from us to establish his own path in life. Those six steps are moving him towards who he is- or, towards "Jack." I read (or heard) somewhere part of a poem or saying that said, "our children are not ours." They may feel like ours for all the years we care, feed, bathe, and clothe them, but really, a parent's role is to give a child the best opportunity to discover who s/he is- with no strings attached. This is hard. I imagine that it will only get harder the more invested I am in Jack. But then, unconditional love is hard- I just didn't know how difficult (and probably won't really know for a long time) it might be. Not because I expect Jack to love us back as much as we love him, but because I'll have to let him walk his way ever so slowly- and just as slowly hold back the worries and the weight of motherly love like I see my mom still doing from time to time.

Anyway, I'm excited that Jack is learning to walk. He is so proud of himself when he does. And I'm thrilled to discover who is is becoming.