T plus 36 hours

So yeah, it's been a day and a half since we cut Boogie off the boob, and all is well.

I was sort of dreading last night, thinking that she'd be begging for it, and then I'd have to get another bra smelling like vinegar, but as we were downstairs finishing up her oatmeal (goodness...oatmeal has become the bane of my mornings) she looked at me quite slyly and said:

"Mommy, chichi. Ouchie. Noni"

And gave me a kiss on the boob, then grabbed her Good Night Moon, pointed upstairs and said, "Go."

So, no requests. And we're doing okay. I'm a little uncomfortable, but a year ago, I would have been in agony going this long without nursing. And yay! I have pre-baby boobs right now! I don't know how long they will last, but I'm thinking of going to the beach or something if the weather gets above 65 this weekend.

And! She slept through the night. SHe was up for oatmeal, which is the next big hurdle to jump, but we're okay with the weaning. I don't feel too sad, more liberated than anuthing, and though I'll probably miss ir soon, I feel good that we lasted this long, and I'm glad she's okay giving it up too.

Terible Two's in FULL EFFECT

Oh my Sweet Jesus. If I said 10 things to Boogie this morning, 8 were "NO!" Sprinkled of course with a few, "Don't play with that, please" and a "Where did you find that?"

Another phrase getting more and more common is "Don't climb on that [...] or else..." as in "Don't climb on that bookshelf or else you're going to fall and break your neck" or "Don't climb on that dog or else he's going to bite you again."

I'm exhausted. I think maybe it would be more bearable if it didn't start at 5am. After a 1:30 am alarm clock of "MAMA! OATMEAL!" And just for right now, I can't think of having two kids. Prayers are oozing out my brain that she'll be over this whole testing limits thing by the time I have another one. And that I'll learn a better way of handling it.

Which normally, I think I'm pretty patient, good at re-directing and finding things she can explore, rather than just saying NO to everyting. But it's hard to get ready in the morning and watch a toddler without any help. At. All.

But. I also know that I'm being tested right now, by both P and Boogie, and I need to stay firm, set limits, and redirect both of them to acceptable activities. It's short term, at least in the sense that this particular phase for both will end sometime, probably right when I get the hang of dealing with them, and then I'll be presented with a new challenge.

Such is life.

I'm off to research how to get this kid off the boob, and to sleep in later than 5:30am.

FINISHED (!!!!)

I just finished pumping for the last time at work (at least for this kid).

As I was packing up the power cord, which has been permanantly plugged into my office wall for the past 5 months, a hige smile broke out on my face, and I started doing this weird, convulsive, funky-chicken dance in front of my paper-covered window.

Then I thought about my across-the-hall neighbor (also my male lead worker) looking up from him computer and seeing my shadow like a freak-on-a-leash (under the Big Top) show at work, and started laughing out loud.

And when I opened the door, pulled the Caution sign off and walked down the hall to the kitchen, I notice a few people looking at me oddly, but you know what? I don't care.

I'm damn proud of myself for making it this long. I did what was best for my baby (in my mind) and if I want to celebrate that, to hell with all the men around here who will never have a plastic horn attached to their nipples for hours at a time to feed thier children.

Go me, it's Taryn's birthday, go me, I'm not pumping!

I'm going to try to con Ally into helping me get a big-ass plant upstairs after lunch for my office. Now that I'm taking the paper down, maybe they won't die from lack of sunlight anymore.

Final Countdown Begins

Sick of the titty-talk yet? Too bad, because really, pumping is a major part of my work day. If I spend 30-45 minutes per day, that's like ... two and a half hours per week that I'm in here, all alone, trying to feed my child. Which means in the last five months since I got back from maternity leave, I've spent at least 3000 minutes pumping. Wow. You know what I could do with an extra 50 hours of my life?

Sleep.

And now, as of right now, I only have eight more days to go. I haven't decided yet if I will actually pump on her birthday. Maybe not. Because if I'm still only sqeezing out an ounce per day (thanks tequila!) it's not really worth it. And since I'll have to use up the freezer supply getting her used to regular milk, may as well start sooner than later, right. Right?

I am immensly proud of myself for pumping this long. I can't even tell you how many times I wanted to quit, though of course I blogged about it a lot, but on almost a daily basis I was frustrated with the process, with the results, and I had to set a very clear end to the suffering in order to be able to make it through.

Two more weeks.

I don't think I'll miss it. I'll still be nursing four or five times a day when I'm at work, and seven or eight when I'm home with her. I'll be able to take this grid paper off my office window and see outside during the day. I'll be able to bring plants into my office and not have them shrivel up and die from lack of sunlight. I'll have a whole 'nother corner of my desk to decorate once the pump is gone. And I'll have the self-satisfaction that my child never had formula. Not that in the scheme of things it makes a difference, but to me it was important, to my budget it helped a hell of a lot too.

So yay! And now I'm really going to buy some shoes, because I'm wearing my funky-ass black sneakers from Payless that I bought while I was working at MERVYN'S and they such. They are ungly. And I want new shoes as a present for myself for my birthday.

Even Worse

While pumping this morning, one of the clerks had the freaking audacity to knock on my door. I have a sign that I thought was obvious enough...

CAUTION: Do Not Enter
Mom Pumping for Baby.

But evidently it wasn't blatant enough that I don't want to be bothered when my door is closed and my sign is up. And what was it over? Someone in reception calling to see me. Which anyone else on the floor could have handled.

But no, she comes to my door, stops to read the sign, then knocks and calls my name.

Idiot.

Hey STUPID! Yeah, YOU.

That little box over by the copy machine, the one with my name on it? It's called a mailbox. Next time you have somethng to give me and my door is closed because I'm making lunch for my kid for tomorrow, put it OVER THERE.

Please don't stand in front of the closed door for 5 minutes debating what to do with it. Pretty Standard Operating Procedures to use the box. Really, I promise. I won't be mad. No reason to prop a case up on the door, I do check the box every once in a while. Because it's a little distracting to see feet under my door when Lil' Bit is in use and Ms. Perky is taking a breather too, and really? As a Mother, I would have hoped you could figure that out on your own.

Thanks.


(No, not really you, I'm being an ass right now)

23 More Days

I've got 23 more days of pumping to go. I just can't do this anymore, it sucks (literally) to sit here for 45 minutes every day just to eke out 3 ounces of milk.

So I counted, 23 more days of actual pumping before Taryn's birthday. June 19th will be my last day to do this, and then I'll just nurse her at lunch, during the week and on demand when I'm home with her.

I'm tempted to quit now, but I set me goal, and I'll hope to reach it. And even after that, we'll be using up the freezer stash, which should last a month or so until she starts in on cow's milk during the day while I'm at work.

Feels liberating just thinking of not having this PIS staring at me all day long!

I'll Stop Nursing When She Grows Her OWN Boobs!

Someone at work today commented that nursing a baby past 9 months to a year is incestual.

WHAT?

I was so shocked shitless at how utterly American she sounded in that moment, that the only reply that I could think of was, "I guess I won't tell you when I'm nursing Taryn past a year."

Regardless of the fact that the AAP reccommends nursing to at least a year, and the WHO suggests two years, really? Nursing your own child, a child not mature enough to go without a diaper, or to sleep in a real bed is suddenly too old to drink the perfect food for her?

What's the difference between a mom who exclusively pumps and feeds her child that milk for two years, and a woman who nurses her child for the same amount of time. How can a woman say it's disgusting to see older infant nursing?

It's so sad to me that women have become so out-of-touch with their own bodies. It's these women who are so afraid of the pain of childbirth that they don't ever have children. I wonder if the thought crosses ther minds that women have been birthing children and nursing them into todlerhood for thousands of years? It's so upsetting that childbirth has become a disgusting thing, something to hide and medicate and that women no longer trust their bodies to do what they were designed to do perfectly.

And this is not to rag on women who have medication during labor, or who choose not to nurse their child for whatever reason. I just don't get the criticism of what has naturally and historically been the only way to birth and nurture young children.

I personally love nursing Taryn. I love the closeness, and the feeling that I can provide for her something that no one else in the world can give. I treasure the nights we sat in the glider, nursing and looking out the wondow at the stars, or stroking her downy hair. I feel privelidged to be able to comfort her when nothing else will. I appreciate the benefits I've seen in my own body from nursing, the weight it has helped me to lose, and the motivation to keep eating healthy foods and drinking lots of water, and taking my vitamins to keep my milk as healthy as possible for her. I value the immunological benefits to her, that even when she gets sick it's over relatively fast, and I'm sure she's been sick far less than many other formula-fed babies.

The excuse to hold her close for those precious minutes throughout the day would have been enough to keep me nursing her as long as I have, and all that other stuff is what keeps my mind open to nursing her through early toddler-hood. I can't see myself nursing her when she starts pre-school, but I don't see a problem with letting her nurse as long as she wants, or until the second trimester of my next pregnancy, whichever comes first. I may have a problem with her being out of diapers and still nursing, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

It just makes me sad that some women will never be able to experience what I have with Taryn, simply because society tells them it is disgusting and that a man-made formula is better than breastmilk. I don't judge these women, it's not their fault they were raised like that, but I do resent the scientists who propogated the lie that breastmilk and nursing wasn't a beautiful bonding experience, and the best possible start for babies.

I can't judge folks who decide not to nurse their children past a certain age, because when I see a 4 year old asking his mom for titty, I might look at them both a little crazy. But now that I've been there, she'll always be my baby. And if she wants to nurse until she's two, I'm cool with it. I probably won't be doing it in public, bit a nip in the morning, or a nightcap before bed doesn't seem horribly disgusting and incestous to me.

Titty Milk for Sale!

Yes, you read that right. After all that bitching and moaning last month about Taryn starving to death after I went back to work because my let-down was broken, I've come to the realization that I'm the Dairy QUEEN.

And also, that I'm hoarding precious titty milk that I might possibly never use, because I am pumping way too much milk for my scrawny little Dumpling. Let's do the math:

Taryn eats 2ozs of milk 2 times per day while I'm at work. That's 20 ozs of milk per week.

I pump 2 times per day while I'm at work, getting about 8ozs per day. So that's 40ozs per week.

Which means on average, I'm storing 20ozs of milk each week.

And if you see my freezer, the lower right-hand corner is packed full of frozen milk, probably close to 100ozs already, and really? I need some room to store my ice cream.

And since the milk donation place down in San Jose won't take my milk (I tried, but then I hated pumping and never returned the application, though maybe I'll try again, even though they think I'm an alcoholic because I sometimes drink more than 2 drinks in a sitting, which is considered binge drinking...but whatever) I figure I should just sell it.

Because I heard it goes for like $6 per ounce to bodybuilders and such who need the super-enriched calories. So if I can sell 100 ounces, I can pay off my dinig room set. And a new pair of shoes!

It can come in packages of 2-7ozs.

Any takers?