UGH! She is six months old. Almost seven months! I can't believe it. I was nursing her to sleep tonight when it hit me that this is going too fast. But I knew it would. Just yesterday Mr. Pants was hanging baby gorilla style in a colic hold (thank you Dr. Sears!) and today he's been peeing on the potty. Le sigh. These humans keep growing and it's not fair! So I try and write my babies a letter every now and then. This is what happened when I put pen to baby book tonight....
I remind myself everyday that I need to be present with you as you grow but you still are growing too fast. How about you slow down just a smidge for mama ok? I have not let a day go by without singing your favorite song
to you or kissing your amazing cheeks about a hundred times. There are times that I can not believe you are mine. You are such a joyful and silly little baby. From the day you were born you had opinions about things. I remember in the hospital you were a little grouchy and I could feel that you needed to go home. So I got right up and moved around and made sure that I was ready to go the second the doctor would let me. People tried to visit us in the hospital but we were gone. I badgered the docs til they let us go because I knew you needed to go home. As soon as you got home you relaxed. And you haven't been a grouch since. Seriously, not even a little bit. You smile the instant someone smiles at you. Heck, you smile when people don't smile at you too. You are such a light. You even won over your brother. He tried to ignore you for a long time but every time he talks or jumps around, you laugh. You think he is so cool. And now, he thinks you are cool too.
So there's something you have to know about yourself right now. You are super big. And it's awesome. I took you to the doctor recently and you were off the charts! Like WAY off the charts. Today you are wearing a 24 month outfit. You are so squishy! You are rolling all over the house and you think it's so funny. You giggle and giggle and roll into things. The other day you got up on all fours and started to rock back and forth. Any day now you are gonna take off and I know that when you do, your brother is going to think you are so much cooler. And he might also feel a little threatened but that's ok. I promise to try my best to stop any and all injury that might happen but I know I won't win them all. You love to pull his hair and he thinks it's hysterical. Your bro is weird like that. I also need to warn you that when Daddy crawls around, Mr. Pants just jumps up on and rides. I have a feeling he will try this with you so look out baby girl. He's gonna make your life super fun. Just you wait.
I love nursing you. And you love it too. You have known how from the beginning. When it's time for you to eat, you smack your lips and make a humming sound. And when you settle in for a meal, you almost always look me in the eye and smile as if to say, awww yeah. It warms up my heart baby girl and I know I'm gonna miss this part of our relationship so much some day so I savor it. You also sleep in bed with your mama. Now that you are moving around you always end up in the crook of my arm. If you happen to roll away, it doesn't take long before you come looking for me. I love that. Your smile has the ability to change the coarse of the day. If I'm sad, you make me happy. If I'm mad, you make me stop being so selfish and remember to soak up these days while you are so little. So I'm stopping tonight, to remember the day you came into our family. It was an amazing day because you, my sweet girl, are one amazing little person. I know you will do awesome things with your life. And while part of me can not wait to see what you decide to do, the selfish part of my mama heart hopes that you take your time getting there. I love you My Plum. Your mama will always love you. Everyday. No matter what.
Gah. I hate to wait. I hate it. I am the person that strategically moves through a day in avoidance of waiting. I never hit the BMV at open or close or lunch. I go at two o'clock when the luch break crowd is gone and before the after work crowd gets there. I would rather starve then wait in line at a drive through with more than three cars and I will mill about the grocery store for hours if I have to in order to avoid waiting in a long line. I figure at least I'm moving. So it makes sense that I am losing my mind waiting for the results of Mr. Pants' big giant "does he have autism" tests. Tests, mind you, that we spent two months waiting for. Fudgcicle. So while I wait (which I totally hate doing), I guess I will document here how the tests went.
The big day was last tuesday. I got us both packed up to spend the afternoon at Children's Hospital. Diapers, snacks, juice, wipes, dinos. Check! Breast pump. Check! Cooler to bring home pumped milk. Check! Extra clothes for any accidents (because 85% of the time this is needed). Check! Purse with all reports, tests, evals and insurance information. Check! Then it occured to me that I had no idea how I was going to walk my "I will not hold your hand but rather will thrash myself about until you have to make a choice to let me go or my arm with dislocate" boy from the parking garage to the specialists office. This was about a quarter mile. There were 3 elevator rides involved too. This is when I realized I had an Ergo
. Thank the Lordy.
I crossed my fingers that he'd go for it and what do you know? He thought it was cool. The last time I tried to wear him he acted as though I was trying to stifle him/control him/ruin him. He let Daddy wear him once this summer but never me. Thankfully he totally cut me a break and took the ride. When we got to the office, there was no one there waiting and I was like "YES! I hate waiting". The specialists were waiting for us
! I took note of that as very cool on their part. They were very kind and introduced themselves to both me and Mr. Pants. All of them were quick to acknowledge his excellent eye contact. This made me super proud since we have been working on this for 3 solid months and have had great success. As recently as June, when you called out to Mr. Pants he didn't look at you. He very very very rarely looked anyone in the eye that wasn't daddy or myself. And we had to work hard for it. So that they noticed was pretty cool.
We were taken to the office of one of the specialists were it became clear pretty quick that Mr. Pants would be having no part in seperating from his mama. This wasn't shocking to anyone, so they told me I could stay but that I had to be "very uninvolved". I was asked to remain in the chair filling out paperwork and to ignore all that was going on in the room. And that was soooo friggin hard. Ever try and not parent your kid when he's sad or frustrated or stressed? It sucks. I told the worker that if (and when) he came to me, I wouldn't be able to reject him. Not that it would be hard, but that I wouldn't hurt him like that. Maybe we were better off seperating us and dealing with some fallout before the testing, I asked them. But they thought I should stay and were happy to allow me to comfort my baby if (and when) he came to me. So they got started. They handed me about 75,000 pages of questions to keep me busy and began playing with Mr. Pants. For the next three hours they tested his memory, his motor skills, speech and cognitive abilites. They adminstered the ADOS test and asked me about 200 questions in addition to the ones I was answering on paper. Mr. Pants delivered several face melting tantrums and showed off his ability to open and close doors. He side-eyed
and spinned and spoke in his native tongue for them too. When the specialist pulled out some beads and thread he stopped to give them his full attention. Every game he played with him, Mr. Pants mastered without having to be shown how. Smarty Pants.
They were sweet to my boy and also to me. I was really grateful for that. It was also clear that they thought he was pretty cool. He made them laugh. That's my boy. But at the end, there was no mistaking that he was done. Truthfully, so was I. On the way home in an effort to reward him for a hard days work we hit Burger King. But Mr. Pants was so thoroughly exhausted that he fell asleep eating. Food still in his mouth. I started to cry. I felt guilty that he had been through such a hard day. Daddy and I work everyday to make life smooth for the little dude. This kind of stress is very rare for him. I hope we are done with this part of the journey. My mama heart is heavy for him.
People keep asking me how it went, and how he did and the answer is that I have no idea. They had amazing game face. They gave nothing away. Whatever they were thinking, they didn't let on. They shook my hand and said goodbye to Mr. Pants as I loaded him into the backpack for the ride to the car. They'd call to set up a meeting in a few weeks to go over results. So now we wait......and um...I hate waiting.
You know how when your two year old is having a catagory five meltdown and people are looking on in shock like they just can't believe that a child would act like that? Or they look at you like "can't you control your child?". Meanwhile you're cheeks are flushed, you are sweating bullets and you want to die? Take a moment and say this aloud to yourself, "I will live through this. My child will live through this. This will end." Then put a smile on your face, abandon your cart and get home. Don't speed. Take your time. Your kid is strapped down for the ride. Enjoy it. Get yourself some Starbucks.
The Pants family never got the hang of cribs. This came as a shock to me because when I was 7 months pregnant I panicked, like only a pregnant lady can, and had to get the crib RIGHT NOW. Poor Daddy Pants was all flustered in Target watching me pace, talk to myself and read labels. I demanded that we bring home a crib that night. I can still see his face flushed and hear his quiet "don't upset the hormonal crazy lady" tone. I have since eaten a ton of crow about this. Because we never used that crib (it made a perfect laundry jail though). My crazy pre baby self had not yet met my crazed post baby self. They were two different people entirely. After I met my baby boy, I knew I couldn't have him sleeping in another room. So I started reading every article and research paper done on family bed sharing or co sleeping. The Hubs let it all ride. His face would blanche and tune me out as I schooled him on the bliss that would become our sleeping arrangements. I went on and on about how safe it was when done right and that cosleeping has been around forever. "Cribs are a modern day phenomenon!", I'd preach, "Baby's have been sleeping with their parents since the beginning of time!". I knew that what I was saying was true on paper. But the real truth for me was that I just couldn't put my little peanut in a room away from me. It didn't work for me. The idea made me cry even though I knew I wasn't going to. I mean, just the IDEA (Thank you post partum hormones!). So we figured out how to do it safely
and that's how it all started. It was nice to find out that Daddy wasn't tuning me out after all. I've heard him talking to his gaming buddies online about breastfeeding and cosleeping and my heart swells with pride (even if his buddies are eye rolling on the other end of that conversation).
The Pants family values sleep. In fact, we LOVE it. We also love to snuggle. Everyone sleeps better and the snuggles are the absolute hands down best part of the day. Even when daddy and I were pressed against each other on 2 square inches of a king size bed so as to leave Mr. Pants the space to not be touched, we love it. Thankfully he got over that. He became an expert snuggler despite himself. He is also an expert space taker, blanket stealer and all around dream ninja. But when he slides into the crook of your arm, ready for some snuggle, it's the best feeling in the world. Miss PLum is getting pretty good at it too now that she's plump and strong enough to give back a good snuggle. She can't help it, it's in her genes. Sadly,It's not a good idea to have a midget sleep gymnast in the bed with a new baby so Daddy joined Mr. Pants in his new room right before Miss Plum arrived. Someday soon we will all meet up again. I think I will need to create a bigger more awesome bed though. Is there such thing as a double king? Or maybe baby girl will just join her brother in his room when she is ready and I can have the hubs back. We'll see. Who knows how it will go. But I can not wait for the day Plum is big enough to snuggle sleep with Mr. Pants. I think when I see that for the first time my heart might explode.
I recently had the pleasure of attending the first birthday of a friend's sweet little twinies. The babes were preemies and had been through such an amazing first year of life. Getting that invitation took me right back to the day they were born. So tiny and fighting to live. Their mama, so brave. Each day these babies kicked butt and grew and grew and fought and fought. Seeing that invitation made my heart swell. I was excited to go and celebrate them and all they had conquered.
We arrived at the party just the two of us. Mama and Mr. Pants. It was hot and Grandma Pants stayed back with Miss Plum. Now I don't go anywhere without a plan because Mr. Pants is two. And two year olds are certifiably insane. So my plan was to let him enjoy the park and hopefully we would both come back alive. I packed some snacks and brought his dinos and juice. I mentally prepared for all possabilities and we got in the car. 1:30 pm we arrive to the celebration. By 1:50, we were heading home.
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes wherein I am sweating bullets and might cry. Here's the breakdown of what I lovingly refer to as "The Day Mr. Pants Went Ape Shit at The Party".
We arrive. Mr. Pants gets a balloon tied to his belt loop. This is exciting to him for about 42 seconds. There is a field next to the picnic area and Mr. Pants begins to run. I'm thinking, "This is great! He will tire himself out a bit and be ready to eat". But there is also a small cliff that drops into the creek and some sharp rocks so I station myself between the field and the cliff to head off any brilliant ideas Mr. Pants might have about jumping into the abyss (See! I'm prepared). As he runs, his green ballon is bashing him in the head and working it's way around his neck. My attempts to save him from strangulation are met with resistance. Mr. Pants believes I am trying to ruin his fun.
OH LOOK! A pile of sticks!
He breaks about 14 sticks in a demonstration of brut strength complete with grunting sound effects with each SNAP of a stick. Then, one weapon in each hand, he saunters into the pavillion. I see the look on his face and scurry quickly to intervene. I believe his thought process was this, "Hmmm, I have two sticks! One in each hand! And there are TWO babies! One for each pointy stick! I will poke...." This is when I get there and stop his inevitable assault on the birthday babies.
And man does that piss him off.
Rolling in the dirt is his protest to my heroism. Kicking, kicking, kicking and then..."LOOK! A CLIFF!...I must run and jump!". My primal scream of "STOP!" actually reaches him and he turns to me and giggles (EVIL!). I look over to see another guest of the party in a cold sweat, terrified that she almost witnessed my two year old plumet to the creek. I start to talk with her but am quickly distracted once again as Mr. Pants begins his sprint towards the road.
Why in the hell am I wearing flip flops?!?!?
By this time, more kiddos have arrived and are behaving beautifully. They are dressed in their party clothes and playing sweetly while their people snap adorable pictures. Meanwhile Mr. Pants looks a HOT MESS drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. One mama decides it's a good time to bring out some bubbles. I think she was trying to help me, bless her heart. I can only assume that I looked pretty crazed as I was drenched in sweat and had that coming unhinged grin on my face ala Stepford. It was 90 degrees so obviously my face was beet red too.
I say, "Look bud! Bubbles!" and for a moment it seemed as though Mr. Pants was going to play with the bubbles. He calmly walks over to the table and picks out a purple bottle of bubbles and hands it to me to open. We've played with bubbles before, he loves it in fact. So I hand him the bubbles and turn my head for a moment to toss the protective seal in the trash. He takes this opportunity to chug half the bottle of bubbles and begins gagging and spitting. He is so offended at the bottle that he pours the rest down his shirt as he sputters and gags and pukes a little. Much to the delight (horror) of the other party guests.
Now he is SUPER rage-tastic pissed and rolling around in the dirt... again.
Parents are looking to me with surprised eyes. This is precisely when I knew we'd be leaving. But in a last ditch effort to save any kind of face and also because I was STARVING, I try to make us a little food for the road. The birthday twin's mama is standing near the food table when I tell her that I think it's best that I take Mr.Crazy Nutso Pants home and that I'm sorry. This is the perfect opportunity for Mr. Pants to try and take the entire bowl of potato chips. See, he doesn't want his own bowl. He wants the enormous bowl that contains an entire bag of chips. That's the bowl he wants. When I stop him from taking the bowl he flails like a nut and chips fly. I scoop him up as he resists me and he reaches out to smack his nasty hands onto the plates of buns. Poking holes and leaving bubble solution and dirt on as many buns as he possibly can.
What a sweetheart.
My face cannot be saved. So I turn to my friend and say in the most calm voice I can muster and a Stepford Mom grin, "Thank you so much for the invite. We are gonna go ahead and go."
On my way to the car, I pass another mama I know who is just arriving to the party. "Leaving already?", she asks. "Yeah, gotta pull the plug. He's puking bubble solution and wreaking havoc", I say. She smiles, "Yep! I've been there." and I'm thankful for her. Arriving home, Mr. Pants circled the living room a few times and plopped on the couch. Asleep in about 4 minutes covered in dirt, chips, bubble solution and a little puke with a deflated green balloon still tied to his pants. I exhale and sit down to the computer to send the twin's mama a message. Thanking her for the invite and apologizing for my kid. I suspect this is not the last time we will exit not so gracefully from an event.
But the next time, I will be a little more prepared. And we will eat before we get there.
Inside it says, "Mr. Pants sure is a party animal!"
I have never been one who prays. I had always believed that praying meant that you were locked into the idea that someone was listening. So the skeptic in me just decided that I didn't pray. I have been through so many things in my life that were pray worthy too. I've lost loved ones, had scary medical issues and was petrified that I wouldn't be able to carry my growing baby to term and yet I still did. not. pray. Nope, not me. That was for The Believers not The I Have No Idea What I Believe-ers. Sometimes I'd light a candle and whisper my thoughts into the air. Or I'd lay down on my floor and imagine my body being slowly filled with sand and then when it was time to let the sand out, I'd release whatever it was that had me worried or sad and ask The Universe for strength or calm. Other times I'd sit and cry in my car and talk to myself. What I came to realize recently is that I was praying. I think I have always been praying. The conflicted "what does it all mean" Unitarian Universalist in me kept putting up smoke screens and giving it names like meditating or sending good vibes into the Universe. For me the act of praying is letting go of the idea that I have total control. Praying for me is an excersize in humilty, honesty, release and faith. Yep, you read that right. Faith. I do actually have some faith! I even surprised myself with that one. My faith is all over the board though. So I have decided that in my 36th year, it's time to hone that. But I know myself well and while I will dedicate myself to the journey, I will most likely never get to any kind of difinitive "this is what I believe" place. But that's cool with me.
I could gone on for eons about what I don't believe. Starting with Godzilla. I don't believe in Godzilla. But since that list is longer than time, I have decided to place my focus on what I DO believe. I believe in love. I pray for love. Does that sound hokey? It probably does. But love does amazing things doesn't it? Even in times of horrific tragedy. Even when we think we can not go on, we do. Because of love. When I am in pain or struggling, love comes around to wrap me up and hold me tight. It comes in so many forms. My love for others, their love for me. It comes from adults and children. It seems to me that everyone knows HOW to love. Even the tiniest baby can do it. Even my completely self obsessed toddler at risk for autism can do it. And even my completely silly, obsessed in general adult self can do it.
The other night something beyond the realm of pain happened to someone that I love. The pain that was unleashed that night rippled through every cell in my body. I was consumed. My tears, beyond tears of sadness, became heaving grief and fear and I retreated to Mr. Pants' room to hide and sob. Loud crying has always been very confusing and even scary for Mr. Pants. He is unsettled by complex emotion and struggles to understand. So I hid. But he saw me go. He sauntered into the room and looked at his mama sitting on his bed, eyes swollen and broken down. He ran out. I assumed he was uncomfortable with my tidal wave of emotion and was grateful for a moment that he didn't seem scared. About a minute passed and he came back. He was carrying his wubby. It's a little pillowcase that he carries around and rubs between his fingers when he is stressed. He came over to me and softly laid the wubby on my lap. He looked me straight in the eye as though to say, "Here you go Mama". Such an act of love from my baby boy. And he quietly walked out, turning to look back at me to be sure I was ok. That night I prayed. I prayed for my friend and for my children and for myself and daddy. I prayed that we will continue to love. That we will seek love and give love without hesitation. I prayed for love to continue to rain down on us. I asked that, should we begin to forget, love will remind us of it's power. I prayed for peace for my friend. Then I climbed into bed next to my sleeping baby and as I watched her sleep, I prayed that my children and yours will always know love. And that love will carry them through this life all the way to the end.
I still don't now what is beyond this life. I have some ideas but I suspect that I will never fully commit to one. But what I do know is that I feel those that have left it. I feel my aunt hanging out with us when our family gathers and I can hear my friend Bo's voice guiding me just about every single day. I feel them, I talk to them and I am still comforted by them. It's not sad at all either. It feels good and often gives me a kick in the pants to be better and love more (sometimes Bo just talks me through plunging the toilet though). That's an awesome legacy. So I'm out of the prayer closet. I totally pray, dudes. And it helps. Even if just for minute. It helps.
When making chicken and rice in the crockpot, be sure you do not use sushi rice. Or your family will suffer through dinner pretending you didn't ruin everything.
Oh my God. So gross.
I wish I had one of those nanny cams like the kind Dr. Phil sets up in people's homes. Except I don't want to know it's there. You know, for authenticity. I'd love to watch it back on mute. I think it would look something like this: "Huh? What's that?!" face that turns quickly to "Goooood morning Mr. Pants" face as he slides over to me for the best snuggle of the day and a little quiet talking into my ear. I have always believed that this is when he tells me his hopes and dreams (or his breakfast order). Once snuggling is over though, it ON. There's no turning back, Pants is on a mission to eat up the day. You can see it in his eyes. They almost twitch with anticipation. It must be pretty cool to feel that way each morning. Ready for an adventure of your design. No two days the same. Sometimes he saunters down the hall like it aint no big thang. I love it when he does that. Other times he walks out like a zombie, wild haired and sleepy eyed, carrying his wubby (an old pillowcase) and sits down on the couch seeming to wonder how he got there.
The remainder of the day would most likely look like this."Whoa!" face followed by "Zen earth mama, stay calm " face while he fights diaper change (this can sometimes change to "Mommy's in Hawaii" face), several times throughout the day is the "I love nursing my babies" face. About once an hour he'll see the "Oh SHIT!" face then "I'll make it better" face goes with "Look at me I'm silly, let's forget you got hurt" face. Mealtimes bring on the " Please just eat SOMETHING" face and also the "Good lord, did you really just rub your food into your face?" face. Repeat. Sprinkled throughout the day is a mix of the "I can't believe how lucky I am that you are mine" face and also the "I'm going to sell you on the black market" face. Just the other day came a face that I had been waiting to give. I was cooking dinner over at Auntie and Uncle Pants' house when I heard it. Coming from the stairs in the living room, "MAMA! MAMA!! MAMA!!!!!". I paused at the sink, had I heard that right? Walking around the corner I met his eyes, "Mama! Mamamamamamamamamama!". I smile, "Yes, Mr. Pants? What's up?". And he grinned. "Maaaaama". And my eyes started to leak. I have been waiting two years, three months and 13 days to hear that beautiful sound. And I gave him the "mommy's gonna cry now" face. He called me "Mama". He did it. And it was the most beautiful sound in the world. Even if it did sound a bit like this.....
Don't sweat it if your 2 year old drinks half a bottle of bubble solution. It's non toxic.
*ALERT* If the title didn't tip you off, I will be talking about my boobs and their job as feeder to my children. Feel free to not want to read about that if it's not your cup of tea (with milk). I was reading about how August was National Breastfeeding Month and it got me thinking about how I came to nurse my babes. I've been nursing now for 2 years and 3 months, one or both of my kids. In the interest of full disclosure I had a short break while pregnant with Miss Plum from December to March 9th where no one nursed from me. I like to think of that as my "I'm so pregnant" period.
Sitting on the exam table 5 months pregnant with Mr. Pants, the doc asked me. "Have you thought about how you'd like to feed the baby?". "I'm going to BREASTFEED!" I told her triumphantly. I was very
proud of myself. "Would you like to take a breastfeeding class?" she asked. "Nah, I'll figure it out" I replied. And that was the end of that conversation. Breastfeeding was sure to be easy peasy. Certainly there'd be a light switch that went on in that magical moment my baby was born.
So I was a dummy. Should have taken that class. Or just read a book
. Or even just gave it some actual thought. Because I had no idea what I was doing. Mr. Pants didn't even latch til he was eleven days old, but I remember the moment that he did with amazing clarity. It was 2 am-ish and Daddy headed downstairs to make a bottle of pumped milk. When he returned, baby boy was eating and I was...wait for it...did you guess? Crying. Oh yeah, crying silent buckets. He was eating! From ME! It was so effing beautiful. I'm pretty sure a rainbow appeared over my head. It was that sweet. I remember soaking in that moment and snuggling my son because for the first time in almost 2 weeks I felt hopeful that I could feed my baby the way that I had wanted to. It took us a few months to get good at it. All that pumping in the early days made my milk produce at the rate of a mom feeding quints and let's just say it was like trying to cap a fire hose at times. I remember telling one of my girlfriends that it was like a lactation horror film. I mean, my boobs were off the hook!
The first 3 months were hard. I had expected a chorus of angels to sing everytime I nursed my precious lamb but instead I'd spray him in the eye with milk and he'd get SO pissed. But it got better. Over time. And after awhile we settled into a groove. It took time and practice. And the angel chorus came, eventually. As long as I didn't try and nurse him in public
we were good. He was happy and we had finally gotten the hang of it. Looking back and knowing what I know now about Mr. Pants I'm not sure what I would have done without the ability to nurse him. We might have spent his entire first year floating in bathtubs as that was the only other way to calm him when he would panic. I learned how to nurse a sensory seeking
baby with low registration and vesitbular sensitivity. I had no idea at the time but I think my mama heart knew what he needed even if my brain did not yet know. How else can I explain that I thought it was totally normal for him to want to nurse without touching me at all about half the time. We'd start out side laying on the bed and he'd latch and start his slow slow retreat backwards until he was perpendicular to me. Once he was at a safe and assured distance, he'd sigh, relax and get to eating. I tried to find an image to share but when I Googled "perpendicular side laying nursing baby" nothing came up that looked anything like it. I think if he could have, he'd have nursed suspended from the ceiling like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. Silly baby. The other half of the time he'd let me snuggle him. I used to love that.
When Miss Plum arrived she had clearly taken an in utero class on how to nurse. I was prepared to work hard at it. But she already knew what she was doing. There were times when she growled on approach. She was a beast! And she wanted closeness. If she could have, she would have velcroed her belly to mine. She settles in for a meal like she's sitting down to some home cooking after a long day at the office. She sighs and smiles and snuggles. The two experiences couldn't have been more different. But the outcome was the same. I love to nurse my babies.
It came as quite a shock to me that there were people that had negative opinions about me nursing my baby. When people asked me how long I was going to let Mr. Pants nurse, I'd say, "Until he decides he is done" and then add "probably high school". Most people knew I was kidding but some were put off that I would nurse him past one year. I actually had someone tell me that I HAD to wean him at one or he'd "like it too much". I don't think too highly of that person. The idea that nursing my baby or toddler (GASP!) made anyone uncomfortable was just silly to me. But it did and I won't ever understand that. I find it weird. Mama's have been nursing their babes since the dawn of time. All mammals do. I have never seen someone walk by a litter of nursing kittens and lament that it was gross. If anything, the chubby kitten that is knocking it's siblings out of the way in a charge to the teet gets cheered on. And no one I know has ever put up a curtain for their dog as she nurses her pups to shield the world from such a display of indecency. Or tell the offending mother dog to "do that somewhere else". We actually watch and think it's sweet. And normal. So why not human babies?
When I see women out in public feeding their kids, I like to smile at them as if to say, "Go you! Feed that baby!". Nursing cover or no nursing cover. Because all I see are hungry babies getting their bellies filled up while being snuggled.That's a beautiful thing, man. But that mama is going to get some uncomfortable stares or even the occasional rude comment and that really sucks. I don't know. I guess my point is, don't be a hater. We are all mothering our babies. We just are. Breastfeeding moms, bottle feeding moms. We're just mothering our babies. And isn't that what we are supposed to do? Yes. Yes it is.
So please, the next time you see a mama nursing her babe, give her a smile. She might need one.
Having her mid morning snack