A while back a friend described herself, about one week after the birth of her first child. She said, "I stumbled into a La Leche meeting, crying, with breasts of granite…."' This phrase, "breasts of granite" ran through my head a lot more than I would have liked last weekend, as I was apart from Elias for the first time since his birth.
I went to Florida (only a week ago, and yet seems in the dreamlike past… perhaps this blizzard has blotted it all out…) to attend the wedding of my friend Elline. (The wedding was among the chosen few to be featured in the Ny Times Weddings/Celebrations page here. The photo editor insisted that they submit a photo in which their heads were close together "with eyebrows aligned"– you'll notice they are very nicely aligned.) The whole lactation piece was a lot more of an issue than I had expected. I did bring a pump, of course, but it really didn't seem like it would be all that big a deal. I mean, Elias is 14 months old and to my mind doesn't nurse all that much. What I forgot was that he really does nurse fairly often throughout the day and sometimes night. But it doesn't really register. He bumps his head, he nurses for five minutes and I forget about it. He wakes up and nurses for five minutes and we both go back to sleep. However, what this means is that I really don't go a full five or six or eight hours without at least SOME nursing happening. Also, the pump and the nursling are worlds apart in their efficacy. In any case, enough said. The breastal management was a huge pain, literally and figuratively, but other than that the weekend was really grand.
Balmy! Palm trees! I really can't fathom, looking out at the arctic windswept vista outside my window here, that any of this really happened. But lo– not all that long ago I was striding around among the egrets, wearing a linen skirt and sandals. In between wedding events I managed to find my way to the Everglades. I had Saturday afternoon, and after strongly considering sitting by the pool and reading War and Peace (more on this project in another entry to be titled "War and Peace vs. Mommy Brain") I suddenly sprang into action! No! I will see the Everglades. When will I ever be in South Florida again? I should add that I spent the whole time lamenting my short-sighted refusal of the GPS the man at the rental car place offered me. $12.98 a day, and I was so wracked with guilt about spending the large sums involved in this whole endeavor that I was trying to save money! And so drove around in a state of stress about whether I had missed the faithful turn, knowing I had no plan B.
Anyway, I made it to the Everglades National Park by hook and crook, and there took a wonderful 2-hour tram tour on 15-mile loop through the river of grass. It was really stunning, green, endless, and also just chock full of real alligators. All sizes, strewn here and there as if pieces of lawn art. In fact our guide said that sometimes people ask whether they are real. I can believe it. They weren't exactly leaping up and catching a gazelle like they do on TV. They sleep, I gather, most of the time, and manage their temperature, and only eat once in a great while. They were beautiful, as were the birds. Lots of waders– several in the heron family, and cranes and egrets. A few bright song birds flitting by, anhingas, double-crested cormorants, all the usual suspects. And balmy? Did I mention the sunshine and breezes?
Ah well. We're in a blizzard here and today I literally skied out my front door. (Ben got me cross country skis for my birthday and this was their debut.)
The wedding itself was, in a word, perfect. The bride could not have been more stunning, with creamy shoulders and pink rosebuds tucked in her hair. Monsoon-type rain played around the edges, creating a festive sort of suspense. Will they make it? Or will the skies open first? The rabbi noticeably accelerated when we started feeling drops. The wind rustling in the dark palm trees all around us sounded lush and cinematic. Like Key Largo? Like Hemingway and six-toes cats were not far away.
At the dinner the night before I sat with some elderly Jewish relatives, straight out of central casting. They literally a) told me their brisket recipes; and b) complained about how the Hassidim are taking over the Catskills. One older lady mentioned using pineapples in a dish she was describing, and this old man across the table who didn't know her said, "But that's not Kosher." And she said, "You just tap yourself on the chest three times and then it's okay." And the whole table laughed uproariously– apparently this is common knowledge. Then this other old lady, who had been sitting there quietly for a long time, suddenly chimed in, "That whole thing is such a farce!" More laughter all around. An old codger, as they always seem to do, insisted that I rub Elias's gums with Jack Daniels.
I missed Elias painfully, the whole time, and not just in terms of mammaries. Isaac and Ben come and go as they please, but my little dumpling is always near. I told Ben before I left that I defined success as the house is still standing and no one is hospitalized. I set the bar pretty low, but that wasn't necessary. Ben handled everything very well. I came home to smiling children, a tidy house, and a pot roast. (He really is the domestic god of all time.) Isaac and Ben reenacted Elias screaming his lungs out, right into the face of sleeping Isaac. Which is to say that Elias had a hard time getting to sleep without his favorite drink. (I left milk in the freezer, but Ben forgot to give it to him. In any case, though, I don't think it's really about the milk.) But he seemed none the worse for wear, really.
I didn't know whether he would actually consider this a weaning opportunity. Sometimes after a break like this, a baby will just move on. Other times, they attack like a tiger shark upon the mother's return. I felt the whole notion of weaning him was so bittersweet. I was leaving it up to him, but as my breasts throbbed through airports, through rental cars and luggage carousels, I hoped that he would help me as soon as possible. Luckily he felt the exact same way. I walked in, set my stuff down, kissed Ben and Isaac, and sat down. Elias climbed into my lap and set to nursing. "Thank GOD you're here!" was written in a shared thought bubble over both our heads.
And so– on to Christmas.