The last first day

Being a mom of three, the emotions that I had as a new mom dramatically changed as I became a veteran mom, especially when certain milestones came along.  Hudson's first day of school was when he was 3.5 years old. I couldn't bear to think of him in a big, scary school any younger than that.  To be honest, I could barely stand the idea at 3.5.  The anxieties clouded all other thoughts.  "What if he misses me? How will the teachers know what he needs? What if he's scared?" Over time, I was able to calm my worries and see how great the experience was for him.  Maybe that's why when I sent Hadley to school (at 2.5 years old, no less), I didn't even shed a tear.  I was excited for her.  With Hayes starting school this year (also at 2.5 years old), I didn't expect any big emotions for me.  We went to orientation yesterday and I stayed with him in his classroom for an hour.  He played. He explored. He protested when it was time to leave.  We went back today. He ran in, straight for his favorite items that he discussed at bedtime last night.  He was ready for this adventure, as was I.  Today, I stayed with him for 15 minutes then had to leave.  No problem.  I've done this twice before.  This time around I didn't even think once about this moment for days leading up to it.  So you can imagine my surprise when I walked out of the classroom, and like a freight train collision, the emotions slammed right into my heart.  I was crying before I even got to the front door of the school.  What was happening??  Right then, my heart was crying over this last first.  My last baby was going to his first day of school without me.  I was leaving my last baby for the first time.  My last baby, without me. As if potty training and pacifier weaning haven't already told me, that separation symbolized the reality that Hayes is growing up.

#stillmybabyjustnotababy
#nothisdoesnotmeananymorebabies

An emotional end

There are so many "firsts" and "lasts" that come with being a parent. I found that I have celebrated the firsts without acknowledging most of the lasts.  However, I am drawn back to this blog (which has been neglected for months) to celebrate/acknowledge/mourn the end of a very special period of my life.  Last Friday, February 13th, 2015, I nursed Hayes, my last baby, for the last time.

The end to our nursing relationship was unplanned and rather abrupt.  Hudson became ill and Ryan fled to his parents with Hadley and Hayes in tow in an attempt to keep them germ free. What was meant to be a 24 hour period (after which I would have easily nursed Hayes again) turned into a three day separation.  The morning that they were to return home I cried (and cried and cried) while washing dishes because I knew that now was the right time to wean, despite the emotional turbulence it was causing me.

At 27 months old, I knew Hayes no longer needed the nutrition...in fact, I don't think there was even any milk left for him to drink.  But nursing was our calm.  It was our solution to scraped knees. It was our comfort against big feelings in his little body.  It was our warmth when the cold overwhelmed.  It was our bond.  And it had been for his lifetime.

A small part of me was sad for Hayes.  I knew that he would want to nurse and I would have to tell him no.  I wasn't really sure how he would handle it, but I was okay with him being a little upset and angry with me.  So fear of his response wasn't what was causing my reaction.

The most difficult part was the thought of a very important chapter in my life closing forever.  It took me six days to find the strength to even right this post and I'm still sitting here typing through tears.  I was "one of those women" who LOVED everything about being pregnant and breastfeeding.  Watching my belly, my family, and my life grow before my eyes gave me a feeling of pride, strength, and true happiness.  Feeling those baby kicks was magical. Friends and oogling strangers were welcomed to touch my belly, ask when I was due, and congratulate me.  I loved the attention to the miracle that was taking place and proud of my part in it.  When the baby came and I loved getting to meet him/her.  That first rooting of the mouth looking for the breast combined with the knowledge of what the baby needs and that I can provide it is empowering beyond words.  The first few weeks came with their hurdles as my body and baby's worked together to figure out how to get this right.  But after that, we were smooth sailing.  All of those times when I wasn't quite sure what the baby needed, I would offer my breast and he or she would take it, gratefully.  All of those images of a milk-drunk newborn sleeping on my chest.  All of the signs (in sign language) for "milk". All of that warmth, those connections, those bonds, and the foundation of my relationship with each of my children. And all of those times have come to an end.  I am proud of myself (and my children) for nursing for approximately 67 months.  Five and a half of my 35 years have been dedicated to nourishing my children with milk and with love.  We have done a great thing together, me and my children.  And I am grateful for each and every one of those minutes.  I offer a saddened farewell to my childrearing years and know that the next time I feel this connected with a baby won't happen until I welcome grandchildren.

If the shortened pant legs and the expanding vocabularies weren't enough of a sign, then certainly this last drop of milk is.  My babies are growing up.

#bittersweet
#endofanera

The consequences of an unattended toddler

Remember in my last blog post how I said that I couldn't take my eyes off of Hayes?  Let me show you why...
On Friday morning, I took him upstairs so that I could get dressed and he got into my perfumes.  He smelled like a mixture of every scent possible. Then he refused to take his morning nap which is when I usually make breakfast and have coffee.  Since he didn't want to sleep, I had to go out on a limb and focus on cooking and not on Hayes.  This is what happens:

Hayes decided to get the party started a little early and dump a full bottle of vodka on his feet and the floor.  The mixture of the perfume and the vodka now made Hayes smell like he was working the late shift at the Hustler club.

Yes, Hayes.  I was looking longingly at the bottle at this point as well.  It was 9:40am.

So, I started to clean up the vodka, leaving Hayes unattended once again.  As I threw away the last paper towel, I started to look for him and couldn't find him.  Because he decided to go INSIDE of my coat closet. 

I did a better job of monitoring him until that dreaded moment came: I had to go to the bathroom.  I'm always stuck in a conundrum here, weighing my options.  Do I bring him in the bathroom with me, knowing that he will take the plunger, wave it around the room, throw a tantrum when I take it away, then get up and climb onto the stool in front of the sink to grab and squeeze toothpaste?  Or do I just leave the door open and hope for the best?  I opted for #2.  It got really quiet.....

He found a pacifier and climbed up the steps onto Hudson's bed.  I could not believe it and told him "no Hayes, it's not safe to go up there!!!".  He smiled and crouched down on the bed, so that I couldn't see him.  "No", now that the meaning is understood, has started to elicit that type of response - let me look really cute and sorta hide so she can't be mad at me.

#hairturninggrey