Welcome (back) to True Confessions Thursday, where brutal honesty rules. The last time I did a True Confessions post was August 10…of 2010. What the hell, self? At any rate, I’m here for my confession so let’s just get on with it.
Some of you may know about my heartache during the early weeks of motherhood when I experienced just how overwhelming and painful breastfeeding was for me. Despite it all, I committed to the cause and pumped my way through the pain until I got to a point where I actually enjoyed bringing my baby to my breast. It took about 4-5 months. I’m so very grateful that things turned around and that I didn’t give up. I think that is one of the huge triumphs of my life–not giving up when something got hard and overwhelming and stressed me so completely out. Sure, there were tears when I returned to work and he decided to strike and dealing with pumping at work is enough to make anyone throw in the towel, especially after spilling 6 oz of fresh milk all over the floor of your office minutes before an important meeting.
I gave up pumping back in January when Sam was just over a year old. When we were together on weekends he’d still nurse about 3 times a day–upon waking, right before nap (not on weekdays, obviously) and again right before bed. I can’t remember exactly when we dropped the nap nursing, but we’ve held fast and strong to the morning and nighttime routines for months. He can talk now, so often it is the first thing he says to me when I walk in his room in the mornings to get him up.
“Mommeeee! Ohna Nooose!” (Wanna Nurse)
At times, he’s pretty emphatic and it’s hilarious. Like when I texted my dear friend, Lettie the following message:
“Seriously, S was switching sides while nursing before bed and he said to me “YUMYUM!” Perhaps this has gone on too long.”
Just when I was starting to panic I might never see the end of this nipple-based obsession, he let me rock him to sleep without nursing two weeks ago when we got home late from a family gathering. Then the morning sessions went from 25 minutes to a mere 5. And last night after bath, diaper, playtime and pajamas he asked to watch Dinosaur Train, so I let him. And when I said “Do you want me to rock you in your room?” he yelled “YES!” and climbed down out of our bed, where we have nursed almost every night since he was born, and ran into his room to wait for me to rock him.
This morning, the first thing he said to me when I went in to get him was not “Mommee, Ohno Nooose!” but rather, “Mommee, Ohno Syso Frain.”
So I brought him into bed, fired up an episode of Dinosaur Train. I sat there smelling his hair and feeling him in my arms and trying desperately not to burst into tears while doing the happy dance in my head.