we're going to be okay

I hated pumping. Why is packing up the breast pump the final time making me cry? The nondescript black bag harbors 11 months of memories I wouldn't have called significant. Once again, symbolism packs an emotional punch for me.

At first there was fear and unsureness.

Then I got the hang of it. Pride.

Then things got difficult and the fear returned.

But with the fear was also confidence that I could count on myself to do the right thing for the person who's counting on me.

So I'm okay. We're okay. We're going to be okay.

weaning

On May 23, 2010, around 6:00 p.m. I nursed my newborn for the first time. Soon, I think, I will nurse him for the last time.

It feels like the scene from the movies, when there's an earthquake or some other tumultuous event that forms a fissure across the ground, often separating two people. What had been one land mass becomes two islands, apart. Your hands stretch out, seeking, but you can't cross the void.

I'm not ready, emotionally. I can't determine if Fletcher is ready. My body has taken the choice away.

Google-provided definitions for "wean" only make it worse.

To gradually deprive infants of mother's milk.

Withdrawing the supply of mother's milk.

To cease to depend on the mother for nourishment.

There are many instances in the life of a mother where it is necessary to metaphorically cut the cord. For me, the first instance was at 5:05 p.m. on May 23, 2010 when it wasn't a metaphor. The second instance will be the moment when Fletcher turns away from my empty breast, much as he did tonight, and then never seeks it again.

When that happens, how long will my futile hands reach across the void? How long will I ache? I think, perhaps, for the rest of my life.

11 months old | easter

The official 11 month photo:

 Runners Up:

 

whoopsies!

Do you have Fletcher overload yet?

How about a couple Easter photos!

steps

He's been taking two unassisted steps (and then falling) consistently this week.

He waited until I had the camera turned on to take six (and a half) steps. Best baby ever? Yeah, I thought so.

Since the taking of this video an hour ago, he's done it a few more times. It won't be long until we call him a "toddler."

Toddler?

How did this happen?

teamwork

The fallout of a baby with a cold, ear infection(s), and eye infection taking two doses of amoxicillin per day, is the diapers. I think the medicine may have worsened that part of his cold.

While I was beginning my Thursday (getting out of the shower this morning), Andy was ending his Wednesday (getting home from work around 6 a.m.). The daddy-baby bonding time was cut short by a dirty diaper of such epic proportions that I was recruited to help. Stark naked.

Want to know how far up his back the poop went? Sure you do. His neck. I think we even found some poop in his hair.

Nothing finishes off a shower better than nakedly attempting to wipe down a squirmy baby who's wearing a poop coat.

As the only one who wasn't naked in this scenario, Andy did say he felt left out.

This time, Andy and I worked together and no one threw anything. He wasn't inefficient or questioning. I was thorough and not temperamental. Still naked, I got Mr. Squirmy into a new pair of pajamas. Andy faced the task of cleaning out the disgusting old pajamas and doing a load of laundry.

Crisis over, I was able to finish getting ready for Thursday, Andy was able to wind down from Wednesday, and Fletcher was able to take another dose of medicine, which will surely keep our lives interesting.

a future in haircutting, I have not

award

I was tagged by the lovely, savvy, word-master-y queen of the humorous anecdote Angela over at Begging The Answer with the Versatile Blogger Award.

This award has strings attached. In addition to thanking my wonderful bestower, I must also share seven (who picks these numbers?) things about myself, pass this award to 15 bloggers who I think are deserving, and inform those bloggers of their winnings (my love and devotion).

SEVEN THINGS ABOUT ME:

1. I'm allergic to fruit.
2. On multiple occasions I have busted my nose on the narrow side of an open door.
3. I own 140+ books written by Nora Roberts and I don't know if there's a medication for this compulsion.
4. My first ever email address was ZeeTres@aol.com (I repeated the formula for my Twitter username, @sayschu).
5. I want to shave my head but never will.
6. I may be the only person who knows every word of the movie Brain Donors.
7. I still think about writing a novel daily, but I never settle on a plot idea.

SHARE THE AWARD WITH 15 BLOGGERS:
I will gladly bestow this award on the bloggers in my blogroll over there in the margin, so I won't duplicate them below. I would however like to honor a few brilliant Tumblr people:

Shelby writes things with her hands, face
Danfrth is on Tumblr
jasonmustian
joseph_ocon

Thank you.

speaking

Andy: Say "mama."

Fletcher: Mmma mmma

Andy: Mama

Fletcher: Mmma mmma

Andy: Dada

Fletcher: *fart*

That kid knows.

delight

I want to take this picture and surround it with pink hearts and hug it and love it forever.

The last couple of days, he has been an absolute delight. There's nothing better than his smiles and ear-splitting squeals. I may spend most of the time hunched over, walking him around in pointless circles, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I'm happy.

That is all.

As you were.

allergy

The things that I type into Google no longer surprise me. What does interest me is how predictable I've become to Google, when everything I search is correctly guessed by the auto-fill-in EVERY TIME.

Type in a color and it assumes I'm searching baby poop. It knows my life is measured in bowel movements.

This baffles me because this is the first time we've had a peanut butter scare. Someone (*cough*Andy*cough*) forgot that peanut butter is number one on the list of what you don't give a baby. Fletch turned red and splotchy from head to toe. At first I was sure it was some kind of heat rash because it was worse in the "hot" spots. Then Andy remembered the tiny bit of peanut butter sandwich that was passed to Fletch while they were waiting for the bottle to warm.

He's better today, still with some blotches, but not the scary kind. I can now add "baby eats tablespoon of peanut butter and dies" to my list of things that terrify me.

Eczema! Allergies! You're welcome, Fletch! 

twitter

For the first few years of Twitter, I was convinced it would never be for me. Now I'm hooked. If you join Twitter and you aren't having an awesome time with it, that means you just aren't following the right people. Everyone's "right people" is different, of course. I follow a combination of parenting bloggers and comedians. Just a little Twitter fact for the non-tweeting: everyone on Twitter thinks they're a comedian.  

I'm currently following 144 hilarious people. And Charlie Sheen, but not because I want to.

A Tweet Sampler:

I love how the people I follow make me laugh. I love how random and clever they are. I also love when they make me think.

I'm always tired, and always guilty for feeling tired when I'm perfectly happy in all other ways, so this simple tweet from Mom101 (and Anna Quindlen) really helped me take a deep breath.

Because tweets are short and have a very brief lifespan, it's a perfect medium for random funniness or elegant thoughts, more so than Facebook because the Facebook news stream is much more intrusive. In Twitter, as soon as you Tweet it it's practically gone. Plus, if you aren't famous and have little to no friends or family on Twitter, then chances are you have little to no followers, so it doesn't matter what you Tweet anyway. No one is listening. It's vanity.

I think I'm a comedian too.

monday