Time To Marie Kondo My Body
This morning I cut you off from the bar, kid.
I didn’t know last night that I was going to get up and make this decision. I didn’t know when I woke up to your coos in the other room, or as I stumbled on your daddy’s slippers as I tied my robe on the way to your room.
I didn’t know when I sat you down on my lap, to untie my robe and lift my shirt. I didn’t know when I flinched from your freezing hands on my sleep-warm tummy. I didn’t know when you latched on.
I didn’t know when as I watched you nurse through yawns and sleepy eyes.
I knew, when you bit down with a relentless force, down on my nipple, with your shiny brand-new teeth.
I yelled out in pain, you unlatched in shock and looked at me. I was waiting for you to cry from the shock, and from being unlatched.
But you didn’t cry.
You smirked at me. Not smiled, smirked. “You, cheeky bugger,” I thought, “sorry mate this is the last time”
You looked at me and buried your face in my chest looking for more.
You had been nursing for 30 minutes already. My supply is slow now that we are only doing this once a day. It takes you a little longer than it used to. Its not like back when my bust was a fountain of abundance for you.
“Sorry darling, no more,” I blubbered through tears as I made the realization of what was happening.
I stood you up on my lap to burp you and you cried out for more.
I found myself singing the Weetbix theme song to let you know that something better, albeit less nourishing, was on its way.
You have learnt this jingle, don’t ask me how I will undo this association later. All I know is right now, Weetbix with formula is all I have to offer, kid.
I have the thought that maybe this doesn’t have to be the end. Maybe we can try again tomorrow. But I know in my heart of hearts that I have been thinking this for a while. With every cheeky nibble and every cry out in pain. For weeks now.
I’m sorry that I cannot keep going. This was not the plan. The plan was to breastfeed you once a day for another 4 months.
We have conquered 6 months exclusive, your 7th month 50-50 mix and are about to tick off your 8th month, the last 4 weeks you have nursed once a day, in the morning.
I was sure that I could continue this. But alas, it is not to be.
I am sensitive from the reduced frequency of our sessions. Your teeth are like little razorblades. You have become rough and impatient.
The bottle has no limits and no pain threshold.
I have done this to you.
I have done this to me.
One thing I have learned from becoming a mother is that nothing (most things) ever goes to plan.
When you were but an event to look forward to, I imagined breastfeeding in a field of daisies until your first rotation around the sun. This is not going to happen.
Now I must commence the process of drying up. Of undoing completely, the one thing I willed and worked to become.
The substance I stressed over in terms of supply and timing and plenty I would have to will away and watch disappear.
All I can say, dear son. Is that I am so proud of us. Of how we have come this far. Of the epic team we formed when learning this new skill. A skill we have both mastered.
So, I reflect and think about all the wealth and nourishment my body has been able to give to yours for the last 13 months. From when you were a seed in our hearts and minds, to a blossoming, smirking, laughing, crawling, BITING infant.
You are growing and we have my milk to thank for that, up until this point.
Time to Marie Kondo this aspect of my body.
So, thank you milk, and thank you my dear son for allowing me to become and be, something I always dreamed I would be.
Something I didn’t know I could be.
But for now, here’s your Weetbix kid.