The perfect storm

Miss Dub is weaning me.

Despite my intentions to nurse her until her first birthday, she is now using crying, head-shaking and biting to let me know that 9 months will have to do.

So it was with that fullness of … um … heart that I spent Monday night trying to sleep. Adding to my fitful sleep was the fact that I ran out of a certain medication on the same day and had to switch brands since the kind for nursing mothers was no longer adequate. Oh, and due to my procrastination, I had to take two pills in one day, which resulted in some serious nausea. Like, serious.

To deal with the weaning pain, I had placed some cold cabbage leaves over my … um … heart. The smell of cabbage, however, didn’t bode well with the nausea.

And then a storm of epic proportions hit our town around 3 a.m. It looked like a scene from a Neil Diamond concert with all the flashing lights.

I would like to take a moment to remind you that there are two types of people in this world: those who love Neil Diamond and those who don’t. I love him. Those who don’t are living empty lives.

The lightning was striking fast, furious and very close to our home. The thunder was shaking our house like an earthquake. The rain was bucketing down. I went into Miss Dub’s room and found her jumping up and down in her crib, pointing gleefully to the bright window. All three of us went into the other room and watched the storm behind closed blinds because it was too bright to open them.

About an hour later, the storm had quieted down. I sent Mr. Dub to bed. I sang a song to Miss Dub and gave her “softs” – our name for gentle touches. Then I headed to bed. But the smell of cabbage, the dizzying nausea and heaviness of my … um … heart prevented me from sleeping.

So I headed to the other room to consume massive amounts of Triscuits and attempt to calm my queasiness with various bodily contortions. Alas, it didn’t work. Soon morning came, the storm finally passed and Miss Dub woke for her morning glass of water.

Because she won’t drink formula.

She won’t drink whole milk.

She doesn’t really like juice.

She just wants water.

And my heart is really heavy because I don’t know what to do – is she OK at nine months to subsist on water and other dairy products like cheese and yogurt? Or does she need some form of milk?

Then again, my … um … heart is heavy for other reasons. And I’d really like to know how long this heaviness will last.

Although I will say the cabbage came in handy when making shrimp tacos last night.

I promise they were fresh leaves.

Feeding Frenzy

This week’s Hot Topic is a reader request:

BREASTFEEDING

(Cue scary music.)

First, I must tell you that I am a breastfeeder. Yes, ladies and gentleman, every 3-4 hours, I nurse my lil’ Miss. She likes the milk. I like that it’s chock full of vitamins. And did I mention it’s really cheap?

So if you’re looking for someone to argue that breastmilk is nasty, you best look somewhere else.

(Although, please lighten up on women who use formula. There are lots of good, valid reasons to do so, including “just because.”)

But when it comes to the nuances of nursing, I’m all over the map, as are many of you.

Case in point: This magazine cover, which I saw at my local doctor’s office and thoroughly applauded. Yet, knowing some of you are a bit more prudish, I didn’t have the guts to post it on my own blog. Sad!

Because I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Breastmilk comes from breasts - big, fat breasts. And there is nothing sexual about it, so get it over it, America! In nearly every other country, including those in the Middle East, exposing your breast for the purpose of nursing is totally acceptable. It’s not pornography. It’s not inappropriate. It’s just a breast, for heaven’s sake.

And it’s not that easy to nurse a baby under a blanket. Some mothers are masters at this. I, however, have a little girl who doesn’t like anything on her face and enjoys a chat halfway through each side. So it’s nearly impossible for me to stay covered up. Luckily, she’s never been a snacker so I can usually nurse her in the privacy of my own home, where nudity is highly encouraged. (Miss Dub’s cheeks are awfully cute, after all. Yes, those cheeks.)

But here’s the catch – since we live in a culture that frowns (sadly) on public breastfeeding, I think we should be a bit discreet. I think that if you’re out about town, you should cover up while nursing. I’ve been on the other side and it’s awfully uncomfortable to stare down “the one-eyed monster” while eating at the food court. It’s silly, I know, but that’s the truth. (And it’s even worse for guys – just ask your husbands!)

Now, I don’t think you need to be relegated to the mother’s lounge. I had a friend who recently suggested a breastfeeding revolution, where mothers would (blanket on shoulder) quietly nurse their babies in the chapel at church. And I say, “Viva La Revolucion!” Because it’s not right that you have to lug yourself, your baby and any other children (depending on the location of your spouse) out of the chapel just so you can cover yourself up in another room and nurse. What is spiritually or family oriented about that?

So be discreet, but don’t be discomfited.

Unless, of course, you’re nursing your third grader. I mean, I’m all for nursing your children until they are 1 year old. And I can even understand doing it until they are 2 years old. (Although you probably need to restrict those nursing sessions to your house since a 2-year-old is fully capable of undoing your shirt and proclaiming something along the lines of, “Look at mommy’s ta-tas!” … which is why I’ll be stopping when Miss Dub approaches her first birthday.)

But any older than that and I’m seriously disturbed.

I interviewed a mother once who was still nursing her 8-year-old (!!!) son … but only when he needed some “extra attention.” Um, it’s called a hug and you can keep your shirt on for those.

There is absolutely NO REASON someone should be a nursing a child or a teenager. And I’m pretty sure you can’t tell me a valid reason why you should, unless it’s a selfish one (“But I love it so much!”) or an emergency (“We were stranded in the desert for five weeks!).

So there you have it, my totally random, contradictory thoughts on breastfeeding.

Now, excuse me, Miss Dub wants a little nibble.

What do you think? Should I cover up?