It’s been three weeks, today, since Isaac’s weaning party. We haven’t nursed since that morning before the party. It’s been hard at times and hard differently that I expected. But it’s getting much better now for both of us.
He seemed at times to understand the concept of weaning. The day before the party, for instance, we were walking to our car and ran into a neighbor. Isaac announced very happily, “When I get bigger and bigger I don’t nurse anymore! I’m being WEANED!” But then later, of course, when the reality of it began to sink in, he was grief-stricken.
The party itself was basically like a birthday party. We had four children as guests, and their parents. We played around outside in the back yard. Ben grilled some weanies (Having a weanie roast was part of the theme). We had balloons, which we gave to the kids to take home. I made some goodie bags, one for each kid, containing a standard array of bubbles and plastic slinkies and noise makers, etc. We ate lunch and then I had a frost-your-own-cupcake station. I gave each kid a little cup of frosting and a small butter knife. Sprinkles were abundant. Also people brought Isaac cup-related presents. One was a wonderful drinking straw that went all around in the form of eyeglasses, which Isaac had a fine time playing with. Overall, Isaac loved all the attention and excitement. It helped a lot to have the party, to create a clear and defined end-point that we could refer back to.
The first day after the party actually went all right. I was surprised by that. He seemed still somewhat pleased with his party and his new presents. I had a new Caillou place-setting that I pulled out that first morning, and I also had a couple sippy cups in the form of construction-related things– a hard hat and a truck tire. These placated him for a while. But where it really got tough was day two. He woke up that morning feeling really horrible. He asked to nurse and when I said no he just began to scream and thrash like one possessed. It was like he accepted weaning for a short while, but not FOREVER. All day the slightest thing set him screaming, and he was clinging to me like a limpet. To make matters worse, my cat was dying. Every spare minute I wanted to spend with him. We had some ugly scenes– such as one point when Isaac wanted to go outside, so I brought the cat out at the same time to sit with him on my lap in the sun. Outside time, sunshine, and fresh air were I felt important to his hospice care. But as soon as we were settled outside, Isaac began to ask to go inside again. I said no and then it escalated into this horrible situation in which I was sitting there holding my dying (purring, momentarily content) cat while Isaac stood next to me screaming at the top of his lungs all the while. I can tell you that I felt no sympathy for Isaac whatsoever and if I could have leveled him with scorching rays from my eyes I would have. (Ten minutes! All I wanted was ten minutes!)
Until the cat died on that Wednesday (Aug 3), I was hopelessly torn between the two of them, frazzled and exhausted. Stealing moments to sit and cry over the cat, and tend to his many many needs, while also trying to accommodate Isaac’s intensified need for my UNDIVIDED attention. Also I was going through my own physical/emotional reaction to the weaning. The sudden plunge in happy nursing hormones gave me something like an intense PMS reaction, and I felt achy and flu-like physically too. Needless to say I became quite the connoisseur of cabbage: when it comes to packing your breasts, don’t go for the red cabbage or the curly green cabbage. What you want is the SMOOTH green cabbage with the largest, most loosely packed leaves.
Anyway, we got through it. We went away on vacation and that helped break the spell of the situation somewhat. Just the change of venue helped. He has been having some sleep disturbances off and on which seem to coincide with the weaning. A couple times he had these “night terrors” where he starts screaming in his sleep, but doesn’t really wake up. He flails around calling me, while I’m sitting right there trying to calm him down. A couple other times he’s walked in his sleep. The other night I found him (he had called me), more or less standing next to his bed, flopped over on it and sound asleep. (On the other hand, at the risk of angering the sleeping genie, the last couple nights his sleep has been incredibly long and sound and marvelous for all.) As of two days ago, Isaac still asked to nurse at bedtime and wake-up time. He still even cries about it now and then, and laments: “I don’t WANT to be a big boy! I don’t WANT to grow up!” Then I say, “Really? You don’t want to be able to walk and run, or eat cookies, or talk, or climb slides?” At which point, he has to agree that it IS good to be bigger.
Sometimes we play a game where I cuddle him and tell him he’s a tiny baby. I admire his tiny little fingers and toes and his tiny little mouth and cheeks. Of course all these parts need kissing too. For a while he will drink this in with a placid look of appreciation and pride on his face. Then he will pop up and climb out of my lap. He’ll begin to strut around, saying, “See? I can walk! I can talk! I have teeth!” And then we celebrate his bigness and all the wonderful things it brings.