EASTER GOODNESS

So I've struggled on what to write.  I've already "vented" about the nursing thing, and really, what else goes on around here?  Then I decided that I just need to write, whether its entertaining or not, or I won't write much at all.  So for the sake of "journaling", I'm going to write about Easter.  oddly enough (almost) EVERY SINGLE day of celebration last year (2207) sucked!  And I'm talking puking on my birthday and Burger King on Thanksgiving.  But when the Lord closes one year of doors, he opens another, right?  So we decided this year would rock.  And it has.  Michael had a good birthday (a small party and treats all day) and I did too (a surprise bowling party and later a Matchbox 20 concert-amazing).  Valentine's was good.  We exchanged love letters and went on the extremely rare date night.  Very nice.  And for Easter we decided to start celebrating Saturday.  We took the kids to 'Horton Hears a Who'.  A movie in the theater is a rarity for us and I was nervous about Quincy sitting through it.  As we were walking in, Avery was throwing a fit screaming "I don't want to see the elephant!"   And we turned into the parents who insist, "You will see this movie and you will have fun!"  As always, we were right.  And then we decided to take him to IHOP since they had "Who-cakes" from the movie.  He went in there screaming "I don't want pancakes."  You will eat pancakes and you will like them!  Why do we bother.  We did last minute easter shopping and came home to decorate eggs.  Of course Avery bailed on the dipping spoon, so he died his hand blue.  The next morning the Easter Bunny placed the dyed eggs in a trail leading to the kids Easter baskets.  We dressed them cute and went to church.  We had dinner, an easter egg hunt, and a cookie decorating with some friends.  It was a good Easter weekend.  My mom asked if I talked about Jesus to Avery.  The extent of that for me was "This is a special day for Jesus.  Here, have some candy."  I haven't explained death to him yet, so I didn't know how to go about explaining how Christ overcame it.  It'll come.  Anyway, we had a great Easter.  And there, now I've blogged again!

A TALE OF TITTIES FOR TWO

Let me take you on a journey.  A journey only for the brave, the stout of heart, and of course the curious voyeur.  Here's the visual.  Imagine a 2 year old throwing a typical fit.  Screaming, whining, flailing limbs, the whole bit.  Now pepper in a shrill "BOOOOOOOOOOBIE!  BOOOOOOOOOBIE!  I WANT BOOOOOOOOBIE!"  Add in an exasperated me in one of many positions, lets say lying on my stomach in bed with my arms crossed over my chest screeching "No boobie.  No boobie.  No boobie."  Multiply that basic image many times a day, and you are starting to glimpse my journey through the world of nursing.  

A few things about myself:  I grew up anti-nursing.  The idea of having another human being suck juice made from modified sweat glands out of my nipples was not appealing.  I was quite adamant.  But once I got pregnant and already loved that baby in my belly, my husband and I decided I would give nursing a go for health reasons.  Avery joined us in August 2005 and the saga begins.  He loved nursing.  LOVED IT!  In retrospect, he came to love it more than the average sucker.  We were vagrants for about a year after his birth moving from Hawaii to Missouri to Florida to Arizona, shifting places in between each move.  So I was Avery's only constant.  Me and my boobs.  He didn't have a crib in any of those places as we were crashing with family while trying to settle after Michael's schooling.  He slept with us and nursed multiple times through the night.  I was fine with that because I'm a softy and reasoned that he was certainly unsure about his ever changing surroundings.  He came to want a suckle anytime he cried, day or night, and I obliged.  At one point, he was nursing over 12 times through the night and I wanted to die.  But I'm such a SOFTY!  At that point, I began to sleep train him, but we moved again and derailed the whole process.  When Avery was around 9 months, we figured out (via hives and vomitting) that he was allergic to both eggs and milk.  That eliminates a lot of baby food possibilities.  So as a year (the typical time to wean in America) came around, Avery loved my boobs more than ever and had a very limited diet.  I decided there was no reason to wean just yet.  The nursing didn't bother me at all.  I did my research and learned that your milk changes with time to fit the needs of older nursers.  I also learned that the world average for weaning is 4 and a half years.   Yummy!  Further, it was helpful in reducing allergies.  And lastly, I read that some kids have a super-special-tastic attachment to nursing and weaning them before THEY are ready could result in feelings of rejection and a regression of skills.  Weaning would certainly send Avery into a tailspin!  So we continued to nurse.  I acted as the binky and the blankie and the squishy, or whatever else kids love.  We made sure to only nurse in the privacy of our own home, so as he got older, it became our little not socially accepted secret.  But our little family was convinced it was still right for us.  And to some degree, I think it was.  Keyword:  WAS.  I held to the fact that kids in America that self ween do so at about 2 and a half.  With a little prodding, I was sure I could gently push that date earlier.  But I was in no hurry.  Then, fertile-myrtle-me got pregnant despite my round the clock nursing.  Nursing through that had its rocky points.  I think my body was drained so I caught every sickness catchable in my first trimester and I was exhausted.  So I half-heartedly began to try to ween.  Every progression came with backsliding (a tribute to my will-power).  When Avery was about 18 months, we were presented with an offer to move to Utah.  We jumped at the chance, but the next few months were crazy and provided even more reasons not to wean my little tumor.  I then made a conscious decision to nurse two kids, tandem style.  I bought a book on the subject, and became semi-convinced that it'd all be fine.  So we moved to Logan in June and Quincy was born in July.   Avery went from seeming like my baby to becoming a giant vacuum over night!  From there on out, it was one kid on each boob. For those of you who don't know, when you first begin nursing, it its PAINFUL!  Imagine oompa-loompa mini razors scratching at your nipples every time your newborn begins to suck.  It's the tears in your eyes, curl your toes and squeak type of pain.  At least I would get out of that with Quincy since I never stopped nursing.  WRONG!  Sadly but truly, WRONG!  Turns out, it is the hormone, rather than the soft virgin nipples that cause pain.  So Quincy's suckle was nothing compared to the strong pull of a two year old.  OUCH!  To add to my woes, Quincy was born (literally) with two teeth!  So she bites occasionally and her only instinct with a bottle or pacifier is to BITE it!  She just can't seem to grasp either concept, so I am her only source of nutrition and pacifying.  Sweet.  Moving on to the here and now, I have made my bed and I'm laying in it.  Avery is too young to get the concept that there would be no personal vendetta against him if I cut him off.  Rather I must wait until I wean Quincy too, so it's nothing personal and Mom is just out of milk.  Luckily he's old enough to understand boundaries to a degree and his nursing times are very limited.  For a time, with all the new boundaries set, Avery became obsessed with at least touching my boobs.  He'd stick his hand down my shirt any time or place he felt like it for comfort.  And he'd suck one boob while trying to roll the other nipple in his fingers like a booger.  That got halted quickly!  Having said that, he still tries to suck or touch them many many times a day and certainly every time Quincy nurses.  If I say no, I hear a whiny, "I want to touch it!  Let me touch it!!!"  Needless to say, my boobs hang much lower than any 30 year old's should.  Yet the pliability pathetically makes lying on my pack with a boob in each arm-pit and a kid in each arm crook possible.  Awesome.  Awaiting the days until freedom, for now we just have to chuckle at the occasional antics that come.  I never thought I'd let a kid that can say, "Mom, the giraffe is sad and needs boobie ni-night from the mommy giraffe" suck my teet.  But I do.  So at times when our lovely son comes screeching into our room in the middle of the night with a croaky sleep voice saying, "Mommmmmmy!  Booooooobie!" we roll our eyes, chuckle a bit, and I assume the position of melon protection  as I get mauled by the boobie monster.  This too shall pass, but in case there's any doubt, Quincy has a normal attitude toward the boob and will be weaned at a year... if I make it!