So that thing I've been doing 24/7 for the last 468 days that distorted my body pre-baby and only semi-pained me post-baby that required special clothing a certain discreet covering and drew aghast looks from those non-believers is almost, dare I say, coming to an end. At least today it is. That's right, readers, the wean.
Early on in motherdom, I took the sage advice from another "seasoned" mother of one that I must wean by 15 months - at the absolute latest. I have very much enjoyed being an exclusive breastfeeder and have never given Mason formula to this day. I knew I wanted to feed him for at least the first year and then maybe taper off as either one of else "felt it was time" as all of the books say.
I took the 15-month deadline to heart as a goal, but was less than fully committed to the process. When we first started Mason on solids at around 6 months, we were, to be honest, pretty half-assed about it. I'm sorry, but breastfeeding is: 1) free; 2) easy; 3) clean. Eating solid food is d) none of the above. Mason wasn't really excited about eating on his own until about 9 or 10 months, so our wean-process had a late start. In May or so, I knew I had a conference planned in July and I would be gone 7-8 hours each day and there was no-way-in-hell I was going to pump. So...first goal was skimming off a few feedings during the day (at this point I was still feeding every 2 hours or so).
By 13 months, I had succeeded in narrowing down the day to 3-4 feedings, which was quite a feat! I started to realize, though, that I had to overcome my own hurdles. I admit I happily used feeding as a go-to-sleep technique and I needed to find alternate ways of lulling him to the land of Nod. Enter long, aimless car rides in the middle of the day with the sole purpose of vibrating my baby to a mechanical sleep. But, hey, it worked and I have gotten lots of reading done.
Fast-forward to our present-day routine: every night, as I've done since what feels like the beginning of time, I get Mason changed, sit in the rocker and feed/rock him to sleep. I have done this EVERY SINGLE NIGHT OF HIS LIFE. Four hundred sixty eight times I've missed my 7-9pm TV shows, I've postponed dinner, I've fought my own sleepiness with the determination to get my child to fall asleep and stay asleep. Over and over and over again. Until tonight.
BC (before child) I was living the life of a 30-something child-less gal - staying up late, going out late, drinking too much, sleeping in, and doing the occasional thing for myself - shopping (what a luxury!), singing in a choir, and running. PC (post-child) I've had to give much of that up, or compromise it, really, so that my schedule fits his schedule and I can accommodate his needs (this really sounds more like servitude than it should - to his credit, I do enjoy taking care of him). But I decided a few months ago that I was ready...ready to take back
one night of my own life and re-join our local choir group. It would mean practices every Monday from 7:15-9:30pm (yes, prime bedtime) and that Michael would have to potentially put Mason to sleep by himself. I remember a horror story my mom told me about how she went back to her choir after we were born and left my dad without any pumped milk which meant screaming, starving children to which he could not make happy and, ultimately, required him to load us all into the car late at night to buy formula (I think this was me, actually). I did not, needless to say, want to put Michael in such a position. I already did that when Mason was two weeks old (short story - job interview I wasn't told would last THREE HOURS - seriously! and they knew I had a newborn! and I hadn't really worked out how to pump yet, so Michael had nary an ounce for THREE HOURS).
Last week I came home to a wide-awake baby, who quickly and happily was rocked to sleep by me and Michael pronouncing "Maybe we should let him stay up later?" So tonight, was the second week of practice. They had big plans to go out to our favorite Mexican place for dinner - a little guys night out - then come home and play/wind down for an hour or so. When they pick me up at 9:30, I glanced in the carseat and find Mason already dressed and ready for bed and he'd just closed his eyes. No biggy - car ride, remember? Not a sure sign of the 'real' sleep. We get home and Michael carefully gets him out of the car, but I realize that he is really not stirring and closes his eyes on Michael's shoulder. 'Oh, sweet,' I think, but really am prepping myself for the angry wake-up and the requisite 30 minute put-back-to-sleep process. Michael takes him into the back room, I start cleaning a little and he walks back out less than a minute later...empty handed. I could have fallen over and died. What? WHAT?!? My child who has been suckling on my breast for 15 1/2 months in order to fall asleep at night has just been put down to bed WITHOUT ME!
OMG!
I'm still waiting for that scream from the back room when he realizes I haven't lulled him to sleep, but it hasn't come yet. I will also just take this for a fluke, like that one time when he slept for 8 hours straight months ago (still don't know what the elusive 'sleeping-through-the-night' is). Could this be it? Could this be the beginning of the end? Part of me is excited to be "free," but part of me is sad because I realize it's just another step towards independence and away from me - just as when he learned to walk, throw his food on the floor, and say 'no.' It's bittersweet, but admit I can't wait to re-claim my body and get back into cute undergarments (seriously, whomever designs nursing bras has no sense of femininity).
Now letting him sleep in his own bed...that's a whole other matter.
