crying

Add crying to our bedtime routine.

Here we are, yet again.

As of last night, daddy does bath, potty, teeth, books and bottles, and another potty. Then at 6:30-ish Jonah gets into the crib. “Lay DOW-UNN,” he says — no longer interested in being rocked while sung to. I take over. I inform him that I will be with him for the next 20 minutes. That I will be leaving the room at 7:00, and after that, he will have to go to sleep on his own.

He can have whatever he wants during that time. HAND? Fine. Songs? Sure.

Tonight he chose to stand up and run around the crib for a good chunk of that time, lying down occasionally to demand “Blanket. On You,” and then kicking it off and getting right back up again. It was like the previous night, only with a huge dose of manic combined with short-attention span. “Mommy, do Ohm. Doggy. Two Doggies. Snuggle. Close the door. Bottle. All done. Put it down. Bottle. Blanket. On You. Close it (meaning the crib side). Sing. Loverly. Hand.”

Every few moments I suggested that he lie down. Tried putting a hand on his face, on his belly. He continually wriggled away. Every five minutes I gave him the update on how much time we had left together. At one point, towards the end, he leaned against the crib side, chin resting on his arm, gently gnawing on one hand, head inclined towards me. I leaned forward in my chair and touched my head to his. And we did Ohm like that for a little bit.

In our last minute together, he did finally lie down, accept the bottle, demand HAND. At 7:00, I left the room.

Last night he yelled Mommy for about seven minutes, Daddy for about three minutes and then he conked out. Tonight he yelled Mommy for about 15 minutes and then… sleep.

I try not to let it get to this, but it seems we find ourselves here again. I know he knows he’s fine. I know he just wants to play, doesn’t want to be alone, enjoys the manic energy. I pray that he gets back to that place he was in once, long ago, where, at the end of his bedtime routine, he would just say goodnight to us and fall asleep quietly. I know we had at least one night like that. Maybe two?

* * *

Crying over spilt milk.

Okay, so. Ummmm. How come nobody told me? That you can wean, and your body can continue to produce milk for, like, A YEAR????? REALLY?

Jonah hasn’t nursed in two weeks. Given all the dire warnings about not even missing a feeding, lest milk production drop, I am shocked, SHOCKED, people, that the bar is still freaking open. Shite shite shite.

I would like the strange sensations in my torso to cease now. Thank you.

Besides, remember that doctor who told me my exhaustion and depression were from nursing and suggested that I should wean already? (Yeah, that was great.) So here I am, I’ve WEANED. I mean HE weaned — mostly. It was gradual. He pretty much initiated it, becoming less and less interested over time until he just stopped asking for it.

And I’m sad, and relieved at the prospect of having my body back, and I’m still sad about the end of that era, and I’m just plain sad, and tired. And I’m wondering, where is that payoff that the jerk of a doctor offered?