There have been no progressive cocktail parties through Macy's...but there have been several cocktails!
There have been no bags of swag handed out...but there have been bags of used Kleenex taken out to the garbage bins.
There have been no tearful readings of essays...but there have been tearful readings of The Going to Bed Book , Snoozers , and Pajama Time as well as not so teary but disgruntled nonetheless readings of I Love You Stinky Face . Oh and there have been tears. Buckets and oodles, and oceans of tears from both the Little Imp and mommy, and some from daddy because he just didn't know what else to do to comfort his little girl.
There has also been some pain, the kind that lives in the heart - knowing that this IS really happening and that she hasn't nuzzled into my breast for two days now and the kind when you wake up, completely engorged - almost as bad as when you first started breastfeeding this beautiful child more than two and a half years ago. There have been wet spots on t-shirts and I'm wondering just how bad it's going to look if I cut a maxi pad in half and stick it in each side of my bra, as I gave up nursing pads by the time the Little Imp hit four months.
There were no long talks with friends I'd been reading for ages....there was a long talk with my prescribing doc this morning about upping my dosage of Zoloft. He wasn't kidding when he said UPPING either. He DOUBLED it! Damn! And there was a hint of some anti-anxiety meds too. He concurs with my therapist that I need to WRITE WRITE WRITE about what's happened and how I'm feeling and to not stop taking pictures, something I used to love and had this silly notion I might have been good at. Yeah, funny thing about writing about what happened to precipitate the depression, I CAN'T write about what happened. I CAN'T talk about it. No way, no how. Not yet anyways. And when all is said and done, I probably still won't be able to. And as far as taking pictures....meh, just don't care.
He tried to encourage me to hang onto the things I love most. But it's hard to do that when you just don't want to, when you just don't care anymore. And now, to ice to the cake, I'm taking something away from my little one that both of us find rewarding. I no longer put her to bed, rather, I have to lie to her and tell her mommy is out picking up Meg from work, so that she knows that I, and more importantly my boobs, are not in the immediate vicinity. It's worked for the past two nights. That makes me incredibly sad. She has long associated a good old pull at the mommy-trough with bedtime snuggles, giggles, cuddles and kisses.
So, doc says to me, "I'm sure you can find something good about weaning your little one. "
I thought about it for a while and yes indeed, I did find a couple of good things.
- The hubby will be most pleased that he can possibly touch the boobies now, not just look at them longingly and then get his hand slapped if he does anything more.
- I can drink more than one glass of wine without worrying about the hangover my TWO YEAR OLD will be sporting the next day, or whether she's a mean drunk or a happy drunk.
- I can once again eat a variety of things I was too afraid too, lest it make her sick, burn her little bum, or cause some sort of other disturbance. Funny thing about that though is that I could care less about eating those things now.
- I was horribly, almost scarily ill this past winter. At least now, should I get the plague again, I can take medicines that I know will work for me, yet won't harm the Little Imp.
So there, that's enough of a friggin bright side. So far, WeanHer '08 has been an experience. One that I certainly won't forget anyhow. It's not been as miserable as I was thinking it would be, but it's not exactly been a day at the amusement park either.
As of this morning she is, for all intents and purposes, weaned. She was still asking for it and I told her what Grandma told me to tell her (you'll have to go read the comments from this post to see exactly what Grandma said). She came to me last night before bed and said; "Mummy, I don't need mummy milk tonight, it's all gone." She gave me a hug and kiss and was off to bed. Occasionally when she was still asking for it, I would throw in how happy the Boogey Man, Boogey Mommy and Boogey Baby are that I've shared my mommy milk with them...because ya know, the Boogey Mommy has no Boogey Boobies.
I think it's safe to say that the Boogey Man never gets his hands slapped!
