No More Nursie

I am depressed. Apparently there is a physiological explanation for this. Since Skeetie is weaning, my prolactin levels have dropped this results in minor depression. Or it could just be the fact that I'm feeling a real void now that Bea's "nursie" is over. This was one area I was really good at as a mom.

From the second she was born Skeets was a good nurser, and the nurse told me I had "good anatomy" for nursing. Not really sure what that means to this day...but ok? A compliment in the world of delivery nurses and midwives I guess. At any rate, this is one thing Skeetie and I jointly succeeded at. She nursed regularly and heartily and I produced lots and lots of good, fatty milk. We were so good at it that Bea decided she didn't need a bottle or pacifier - just the boobie. So I had to run home from work every four hours to let Skeets feed. Likewise, George & I always had to have SKeets with us so she could nurse. I rather liked being the sole entity which sustained my daughter's very existence.

I breastfed her exclusively for 6 mo. - she had no other food except my milk. The result was this:
She was consistently over the 100th percentile for her weight, pediatrician assured me she was not obsese.

Then it turned from sustinance to her comfort and self-soothing. I loved the familiar latch on, suction, and then her little eyes would roll in the back of her head and she'd burrow in and get to work. This was wonderful until the teeth arrived. Then we had to figure out together how she could nurse without me screaming and tossing her at George. After a few good nips from her a few good hollers from me, we worked it out.

I also relish how Skeets made a habit of picking my nose while she nursed. Without fail, she'd latch on, settle in and the little hands would start their investigating. Much like an elephant's trunk feeling around for peanuts. Her hand would feel its way up my throat, she'd stick a finger or two in my mouth, I'd suck on her finger, she'd pull away, then she'd eventually stick her finger up my nose and play with my nostril. Ok, I know this sounds weird, but I swear any nursing mother will understand. Sometimes when I'd be delinquent in cutting her fingernails I'd end up with a nice gash on the inside of my nose. Scream and the baby toss would ensue.

Then there was the "roving eye." She'd nuzzle in and get to nursing but keep one eye on the events around her. George always refered to it as the roving eye.

But without fail, everytime she finished nursing we'd laugh about how she looked completely ripped out of her tree. She'd actually act drunk after nursing. She could barely hold her head up and she'd have this goofy grin on her fat little mug.

Nursing is a funny thing. My breast went from being "tits" to nursies. From sexual to functional. I'm pretty sure they will never revert to the former. It's funny though how after having Skeetie there was simply no room for modesty. I was never the slightest bit embarassed about whipping out my boob for Skeetie. In the beginning my husband would stand there with a mortified look cemented across his face if I whipped it out in public. He was steadfastly opposed and requested I go feed Skeetie in a bathroom stall. My feeling on this subject is now very strong. "If you don't like it, don't fucking look." I refuse to go hide and feed my daughter because you might be uncomfortable. Yea, I'd be uncomfortable too if I was staring at your dick. Don't look at me.

Realize, I am discreet. I'm not a mother-loving-granola that flops my boob out for extended periods of time before the latching-on occurs. Rather, I discreetly would latch Skeets on, sparing anyone a nipple shot. George & I have a mutual friend, we'll call him S.T., who gets so severely embarrassed when I (or my friend Kelly) nurses in front of him. Initially we tried to spare him the humiliation, but then found it funny purposefully engage him in conversation, then start nursing. He would literally stare at the ground and attempt to converse.

Another funny thing about nursing is how you can shoot your milk at the husband or pug. I thought this was pant-wetting hilarious. George and Oliver disagree with complete disgust. But it actually will shoot across the room. (Note: make sure to wear bra or shirt when having sex).

At any rate, I'm sad that my last physical connection with Bea is almost over. It's weird, she just is kind of over it. Not really interested any more. I don't want to push it. When she hadn't nursed for 5 days I went out and bought some sage tea to dry up my milk. (oh the horror of walking into a herbal store to request sage: the 20-something herbal clerk asking "why?"; me stating "for lactation suppression"; him looking confused "huh?"; me looking equally irritated, "to dry up my milk"; again confusion, "your milk?"; "Yeah, my milk, you know, my milk (pointing to boobs), I'm weaning my daughter from breastfeeding."; him "oh, I don't really know about that."; You moron, where's the freaking sage tea??!!; "Oh, we don't have any here.")

At any rate, I did find some sage tea. I brought it home with a heavy heart and great sadness. Ok, maybe a little over the top. But I'm sad and melodramatic right now. But before I made my first cup of sage tea I asked Bea the million dollar question: "Want to nursie?" Her little eyes lit up and she started dancing around saying, "Ya, Ya" (She says it with a Norwegian accent). So I lit some candles and we settled in on the couch for our last nursie, complete with nose picking, roving eyeball and pug trying to find a spot on my lap too. When she was done her cheeks had the familiar flushed look and her eyes were glazed over. Husband happened to come home shortly thereafter and asked "What's wrong with Bea? She looks trashed." Well, I sheepishly admitted, we had one last ceremonial nursie. He looked at me like I was nuts particularly when a few tears made an appearance. "Oh, Kitty, it's ok." (That's his nickname for me.)

So I guess it's over. Here I sit drinking my sage tea and stuffing cabbage leaves in my bra to dry up my milk before I have to squeeze them into a bridesmaid dress at the end of the month.

Every day is a Beautiful day, even days like today.