Unlike that big girly-blogger conference in San Fransisco last weekend, there will be no keynote speakers at WeanHer '08. Although, I might decide to put on some purple tights if it makes things better.
There will be no cheeseburger parties.
There will be no readings of amazing blog articles.
There will just be me, the Little Imp and a couple of boobs, literally. The thing about the boobs though, is that I don't want them predominantly playing a role in this weekend. That's the whole goal, to rip something away from my baby girl that has been a huge part of both her and my lives for the past two and half years.
Yes, I said TWO AND A HALF YEARS.
Please don't give me any shit about the fact that she's STILL nursing. In the time it takes you to type and send me a nasty email/comment about how my kid is going to be screwed up because she's still nursing you could have Googled "extended breastfeeding" and come up with a myriad of articles like this one, and studies such as this one which chronicle not only the physiological but psychological benefits of extended breastfeeding.
My original plan was to wean her at one year. All of my other babies who I've nursed weaned themselves, just like that. No fuss, no whimpering. But I didn't know the Imp would be premature and it would be a battle, with health professionals no less, just to get her on the breast. It was important to me to prove to myself, after dealing with breast cancer, that my body still worked, and especially important after everything she went through after birth, two pneumothoraxes, and subsequent issues, that I try and breastfeed her. Imagine my surprise that the old boobies, battered though they were, still worked!
Then we hit one year and she had no intention of weaning. We also started to notice she had some pretty serious tactile and other sensory issues with food. After countless visits to her pediatrician, a nutritionist and dietitian they all came to the same conclusion. Do NOT force wean her anytime before her second birthday. It was more important to work on her issues with food, and to get her to eat a broader variety and not be too grossed out at different textures. She is her mother's daughter, and much like me, if it feels yucky, squishy, or looks that way, she wouldn't touch it. Yes I have issues surrounding food...I'm dealing with it.
Had it not been for nursing most of her second year, she wouldn't have gained any weight. And once she finally turned a corner this past autumn and started not only playing with her food (who ever would have thought there would be a day when I'd jump up and down that she was playing with her food! Go figure) but actually getting it past her lips, did we think about when we were going to wean her. We decided if she was still interested by three, we'd cut it off there. That's my own personal comfort zone. After all, I don't want to end up like this mother who decided to defy conventional wisdom and take extended breastfeed to extraordinary lengths. That is wayyyyyy outside my own comfort zone. I'm not knocking it, but it's not for me.
I really wanted to let her go to three years, if that's what she wanted, but it isn't meant to be.
I don't seem to be able to drag myself out of the worm hole I have created and my rapid descent into the abyss of depression has necessitated a change in medication, one which is not compatible with breastfeeding. I don't think I can articulate how fucking awful I feel about all of this.
I feel like an epic failure as a parent, because of a situation that occurred in January (we're just gonna refer to this as the VERY BAD THING THAT HAPPENED so I don't get my ass in trouble for going against any legal constraints) and how it's shredded not only my self esteem but how I feel I am perceived by others to the point of never leaving my house It bothers me to a great extent that I don't seem to be able to shake it off and pull myself up out of the mire of horribleness that my mental state has become.
I know that it's not a bad thing to admit when you need help. I've been at that place for a long time. It's almost as if I've been treading water and I'm finally getting tired and can no longer keep my head above the waves. I kept thinking a life boat would come along and throw me a rope. Sometimes though, you have to send up the flare in order to get the boat's attention. Some of the things I've said to my therapist in the last week have been that "flare" and together we decided that in order to have the best chance of getting me out of the water and into the boat, we need to switch things up.
Monday I'm assuming I'll get my new Rx so that's been the impetus for doing WeanHer '08 this weekend. So far m'dears, it's been hell. There have been tears, on both of our parts, tantrums, on both of our parts and a fair amount of bargaining and bribery.
I've even gone so far as to tell her that I have to give all of my "mommy milk" to the Boogey Man because the Boogey Mommy has no Boogey Boobies to feed the Boogey Baby. Well, the Little Imp is a fairly smart kid, for a two year old, and saw through that in about sixty seconds when she told her daddy to go to the store and buy some milk for the Boogey Baby. I'm now resorting to promising her a BMW (which I will of course drive for her and keep safe until she reaches an age where I think she can handle such a car - we're thinking 35), a pony (I forgot though that ponies crap...a lot. Am going to have to rethink that one) and a kitten if she will please stop asking for Mommy Milk. Maybe I can convince her that the pony will eat the kitten and that cleaning up kitten crap is preferable to cleaning up the rockets that ponies launch from their asses.
I had counted on tears, but not the huge crocodile tears that tell me this is hurting her because she doesn't know why I'm doing this. There is no possible way that I can explain to my two year old, in words she will understand, that I am broken inside and in order to help fix me, I have to take medicine that won't be good for her and can make her sick. I used those exact words and she asked me if I wanted a band-aide.
It's been really hard for me to take something away from her that's been so rewarding for both of us. In some small way it has been a reaffirmation that cancer did not destroy that part of my womanhood which nourishes my child. Now that part of this journey - mine as a mother and hers as my daughter, is coming to an end. I think it would make me a little sad even if this weren't being forced upon the two of us the way it is. I'm closing a chapter in a book. I just didn't think, when we got to this part, that it would mean I'd have to rip the pages out of the book.
Dearest, beautiful Gaby Rose,
I know you'll read this when you are older, I'm counting on it.
I want you to know that this road I've traveled with you has been beautiful. Oh sure, at times I wanted to rip my hair out, and yours especially when you felt the need to wake up every hour on the hour and nurse like there was no tomorrow. But we made it through, together.
I'm glad I've been able to give you something so special and for so long. There are certain things about being a mother, that are more precious than gold, and being able to share quiet moments where you are snuggled into my breast and absolutely content has been one of those things I will always cherish.
Now there's a fork in the road, and I know deep inside that years from you won't remember this. And perhaps I write this for my own comfort more than yours - to appease something inside me that feels horribly guilty about this...but on the very small chance you do remember this, I hope you know I did it because it was for the best. I need to get myself to the point where I can be the best mommy ever and run around with you and take you to the beach and feel good about myself again. I want to be a mommy you can be proud of. In order to do that, I need some help. Getting that help means that we take the fork in the road and we both grow up and move on to bigger and better things.
Most important, little petal, I want to be here for all those bigger and better things.
