Butterflies

I'm a little ahead of myself this week, and I keep thinking it's Friday already. I don't normally want to skip ahead, but I think I may have some vicarious stage fright. Bethany's talent show is tomorrow night, and I'm trying hard not to think about it because thinking about it makes me vaguely sick to my stomach. Her partner has been over several times to practice, and they swear they have been practicing, but I've noticed lots of chasing the ice cream man, dressing Mattie up like a doll, and "breaks" to play Super Mario, and I've not actually witnessed much at all in the way of rehearsing. My instinct is to step in and oversee and advise, but no one has asked for my help. So I'm shutting up and letting them do their thing. If they botch up their talent show performance it's not the end of the world. No matter what, I'm bloated full of pride for my daughter, because as a 9-year old little girl there was absolutely no way in h-e-double hockey sticks that I would have ever even considered for one millisecond getting up in front of hundreds of people and singing a duet. So. Deep breath. It will be over soon.

After her Easter fever scare,turns out Mathilda started coughing a little last night, and then it got much worse throughout the day today. She did seem kind of okay for a couple days once the fever broke, but now I'm thinking she might have an ear infection or bronchial infection after all, so we'll be off to the pediatrician tomorrow. It really seems like that poor little thing is always sick. The most ironic thing is that Connor, my only child who was not breastfed at all, is the healthiest of my children. The one who was nursed the most is sick most often. Things that make you go hmmmmm. So my retrospective guilt for not nursing my son is somewhat offset by the fact that it appears he did not catch my sickie cooties. 

Also, I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy for my awesome friends today, one of whom agreed to add to her already crazy hectic morning and babysit Mathilda at the last minute today so I could work at Lucy's preschool, and one of whom called me up out of the blue this afternoon and told me she has something for Mathilda that we were planning on buying her very soon, and now we don't have to. Love you guys! 

Now I'm going to go and try to power through the slow beginning of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo so I can get to the awesome part that everyone keeps telling me about, and also try my hardest to remember to put the laundry I'm washing in the dryer before I fall asleep so that Connor can wear some clean clothes to school tomorrow. 'Cause I'll feel really bad if he has to rummage through the hamper for some jeans to wear. Mommy guilt=the gift that never stops giving.

...Like A Stranger In The Night

Don't worry, this is not where I share with you from my journals of unpublished poetry. (I don't have any, cause if I did, well, no promises).

So I woke up this morning and realized I haven't nursed Mathilda in like 3 or 4 days. Whoa. Oh my GOD. I never thought she was going to release me from her evil clutches. In fact, not long ago I seem to remember tears in the middle of the night. My tears. And maybe a teensy bit of ranting, something about never being freed of my servitude to a little person with a huge will to nurse forever. And then suddenly I woke up today and realized it's over. Like it was a huge joke.        

Hahaha. You really thought I was serious about that? Breast milk? Eh. It's okay I guess.

I've definitely been all over the board on the nursing thing. I don't judge any mother for whatever choices she makes on the milk front. Because I've done it all, from nursing at first and then switching to formula, to straight formula from day one, to doing both formula and nursing for 18 months, and finally, exclusively nursing a child who would rather starve (loudly) than touch a bottle. Now that those days are behind me, I have to say, I wish I had had the fortitude to stick out the nursing with the first two. And I say that in a totally non-preachy way, because I really don't care how you feed your baby. It's just in my 20/20 hindsight, I can see that if I had just suffered through the first few torturous months, I would have survived and it would have become much easier eventually.  

Nursing is great for lazy people who don't want to mix formula and wash bottles. And for people who don't like to sleep. (hey don't let this deter you if you are right at this moment debating: breast or bottle? because you could get lucky and have a nurser who likes to sleep. I've heard they do exist.) Because on the plus side, those two little formula fed babies slept like rocks, and for that I was so grateful. 

I'm glad to have resolved the hostage situation with my body, but honestly, I think I will miss nursing a little bit. Not that I wasn't TOTALLY ready for it to be over, it's just that Mathilda is a big girl now and so busy. Snuggling on my lap doesn't hold as much appeal for her anymore. So here I go again sniffling about my baby growing up.