rumors of his weaning have been greatly exaggerated

As is the way of the Internet gods, as soon as one blogs something, it turns a corner, flips a U-ey, slams into reverse.

…eh, it’s not that bad.

I hadn’t been super enthusiastic about him weaning. I liked the idea that he seemed to be doing it on his own. But I wasn’t feeling ready.

Is breastfeeding about me or him at this point?

I have started to feel embarrassed in public now. Real or imagined glances from other people as my not-yet-walking-but-otherwise toddler-esque boy dives under my shirt. Okay, he doesn’t really dive. But he is the only kid in music class who nurses, among a crowd of relative age cohorts.

To be fair, his recent re-commitment to nursing has come in the midst of a two-week cold and cough that on Monday added acute intestinal distress to the mix. Pediatrician says it’s been going around. And his gums are quite swollen with impending teeth. He’s barely been eating solids, but is taking all the usual bottles, and nursing, shall we say, frequently.

Interestingly, in music class this week, he requested to nurse three times, but without the thump on my chest, or even the insistent tone. And each time, just moments after the word came out of his mouth, he would get distracted and the request would be forgotten. One of the times — it was during a song called “Trot Old Joe” about a horse and the refrain “Whoa Joe!” involved being tipped backwards which Jonah seemed to be enjoying until we went from sitting to standing up and dancing around in a circle. The “Whoa” came and Jonah melted down. Nurse, he said plaintively and he started to cry. I carried him over to the window and we looked out at the garden together while I held him and stroked his back.

Was that too much for you? I asked.

Much, he warbled, burying his wet face in my shoulder.

Still, he recovered, and we rejoined the class because, For Goodness Sakes! The Drums!

Jonah loves drums. This fact cannot be overstated. There are these three short cement pylons of varying levels in a cluster at the park near our house. Jonah stands leaning up against them and banging on the unyielding tops like bongos. Boom, boom!

So we were saved by the big bucket of drums and shakers that made Jonah feel closer to happy again.

Why do we persist in continuing with music class when it so obviously overwhelms him? Because I believe he’ll get over it. And because he has moments each class where he seems truly delighted. And he sings the songs when we’re not there. And he loves listening and dancing to and singing along with the CD at home. (Singing along is comprised of him shouting out one to two words from a song/melody, often after the song has finished playing. Doo doo! You you! Me me! Lai dai! Meow!)

After the drum song, Jonah would not put his back in the bucket. The lights dimmed for the lullaby song. I laid back on the floor, Jonah on his back on my belly, one fist tight around the drumstick, the other clutching the ropy back of the flat drum (similar to a tambourine minus the mini cymbals).

Nurse! He says. But he doesn’t let go of his instruments, or turn over for that matter.

Kinda inconvenient.

So instead I run my fingers through his hair while I sing the lullaby, and he keeps 4-4 time on the drum.

The Goodbye Song is next. And then we still have the project of wrestling drum and stick from his clutches.

The teacher and I improvise a goodbye to the instruments we’ll see you next week song as I unpeel his fingers with some force.

And then, we nursed.

* * *

I saw my doctor last week. “My” being a loose term since I haven’t seen her in four years. I had all that OB action for a while, and mostly I maintain my health with holistic practitioners. But this time I thought I might need medication.

She prescribed vitamins and more rest, but not meds. She also made some behavioral prescriptions. She suggested I get more childcare (um… if I could afford it?) and try not to work every minute that I have help (that’s a tough one, but I get her point).

She practically ordered me to wean.

Breastfeeding takes a lot out of you. She said. You’re nursing too often. He doesn’t need it. Give the baby to your husband and go away for a day or two. It’s his son, too.

She seemed to presume that Scott doesn’t help, which I ignored since that is utterly untrue. I took in the bit about trying sometimes to not be productive if someone else, anyone else is taking care of the baby. And actually, for the last two days, I’ve read books and watched TV during his naps. Shocking, I know.

I remember now that the reason I wasn’t so happy with my doctor was that her bedside manner is a little rough.

(Add to that, she doesn’t know much about kids. To my concern that we were passing illness back and forth, she said, It’s not like you’re putting your fingers in his mouth all the time, or his in yours. Right, I said. Because I couldn’t think about whether she was right or not and it seemed easier to agree. But seriously? The kid has his fingers in my mouth almost constantly. Teeth! Tongue! Mouth! Chin! And I pretty much feed him with my fingers, use my fingers to get bits of uneaten food out of his mouth, check for teeth coming through, etc.)

Still, her attitude about breastfeeding this long hits this weak nerve for me.

I may keep nursing till he’s 2, even during the day (gasp!). If I have to wean him for work, I will, but so far, that hasn’t happened. I’m not ready to stop. I’m glad that for right now, while he’s sick, I still have breastmilk to offer him.

And there is also the push-pull now of determining when he really needs to nurse, or when he’s just looking for reassurance. Or a chance to break things up a little bit. (Potty requests also sometimes serve a similar purpose of getting him out of car seats, strollers, his clothes, when these things he’d rather shed.)

How funny that of all the dreamy back-to-the-land hippie-mom ideas I had about myself (co-sleeping, all organic food, whole grains, no sugar, only wooden toys) the only attachment tenet I am still attached to is the one thing I wasn’t sure I’d do past the first six months.

And lately it isn’t even true the thing about wishing I could afford more childcare. I had less work this week than anticipated, and ended up calling off the nanny for Wednesday and Thursday, even though the money was in the budget.

When she showed up yesterday afternoon, I simply could not hand the boy over. I didn’t want a break. That, in itself, is pretty amazing. Bless her heart, she said Mommy time is important — don’t worry about it. And then she hopped right back on her bike and pedaled home.