It is hour 34.There have been tears,screaming,pulling of hair and general feelings of despair.And that’s just been from the adults,never mind the baby that’s embroiled in all this palaver.Its the sequel to the sequel to the sequel that nobody wanted to watch the first time round.Mini Mini is being weaned from boob to bottle.
After so many false starts and empty threats,things finally had to start happening as yesterday myself and the Frenchman headed to a mates wedding over an hours drive away.Granny was enlisted for the honour of minding our pride and joy for the first solo all nighter.She had the tough task of getting Mini Mini to develop a gra for the plastic. Mini Mini is a girl who knows what she likes and more importantly what she dislikes.For her food has to come from a nice warm,soft boob, not hard artificial plastic.Granny has only hard,articulate plastic to give her. Mini Mini is tough but Granny is tougher. It was a hard fought war with little sleep
So we are back now from our lovely night off and the war goes on.It has been nearly a day and a half since Mini Mini had her last sup from the breast.Of course she didn’t realise it at the time.To be honest I didn’t either.I didn’t envisage going cold turkey but my mother has laid the groundwork,it seems counterproductive for me to go backwards and reintroduce what will soon become a thing of the past.I’m back to work in a few short weeks to a place that unfortunately,could not be less baby friendly and less flexible to the demands of being a working parent. Added to that the fact that Mini Mini is not a take a good fill and be grand for a few hours kinda baby.She’s a snacker, a little sup here, a little mouthful there.She is the queen of feeding on demand, something that does not go well with a full time job outside the house. So it must feel like the end of the world for her as I take away one of her few true loves in this life-the humble boob. Cue enormous helping of mammy guilt. And when she has finally tired herself out after all the screaming and bawling, and has allowed sleep to extend it’s nightly cloak upon her, I am left alone to express milk from swollen breasts.It’s a truly mechanical action now, releasing milk through a machine, not through a welcoming mouth.I miss it already-the lovely connection between my baby and me, the contented little slurping noises she makes, her hand placed lovingly on my breast, the little pauses she takes where she turns her head to lock eyes with mine before happily recommending her feed.
This is hell.It’s parenting minus the cuddles and lightness and joy.But that’s the reality, that’s what we signed up for and hey,whatever doesn’t kill us will only make us stronger right?Right??