Boob be gone

So it looks like we’re winding down our breastfeeding relationship. Which is good. I think. I mean, right? This is what I want, isn’t it? She’s almost 17 months old. Old enough that I personally don’t feel comfortable feeding her in public and haven’t for around 6 months or so. Which is not say I have anything against extended breastfeeding, but I certainly have found my own comfort threshold with it. Eloise and I are starting our first step to growing apart as individuals. And while I will forever and always be Eloise’s mother - a permanent stamp on my identity, Eloise will become more and more Eloise, plain and simple (though far from plain and far from simple is she).

I can now get her to nap and sleep without nursing. A feat I have tried for near on 7 months off and on with no luck. Finally this last week, Eloise and I were ready. I had more resolve to stick it out and she no longer felt this was a battle worth fighting against so hard. So she signed for milk and I calmly gave her a beaker of cow’s milk instead. And I rocked her in my arms and she kicked and screamed and pointed at the old chair we usually nurse in, but I rocked and shushed and patted and after 10 minutes she laid her cheek against mine and started to fall asleep. And the next day it was 5 minutes of screaming. And that night. That night I held her and rocked her for maybe 30 seconds and she indicated that she wanted to be put down in her bed, so I did, and she curled into a ball, butt in the air, and I put the blanket on her, patted her back and left the room.

We are now embarking on day 5 of not nursing and there have unfortunately been many a moment at 1:12am, at 2:29am, at 4:38am that tears have sprung to my eyes while Eloise wailed and thrashed - because of teething, because of a cold, because of a tummy ache, because she likes a good challenge - and I thought I should just give in and sit in that chair and nurse her. But we both need to learn how to calm and be calmed by other means than my milk - and while cutting 2 molars without being able to nurse her through the discomfort has been a baptism of fire, we have stuck through it and she has woken every morning, happy and cheerful and slightly more independent to two very tired parents.

Will I be able to stay as strong tonight if she does the same thing? If she wakes up 4 times and takes a good HOUR to get back to sleep each time? I don’t know. I’m tired. I honestly don’t know. But I do know that Eloise and I are growing up. And I’m a little sad and a lot relieved. Because do you know what stopping to nurse means? It means that I can drink as much sparkling water as I want without it upsetting Eloise’s stomach. It means that I can wear bras that don’t pretend to hold my boobs up by flimsy Lego snaps. IT MEANS THAT I CAN DRINK DURING THE DAY AGAIN.IF I FEEL LIKE IT. IF I AM NOT NAPPING.

Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah

Neil over at Citizen of the Month - a man who saw me start blogging during my carefree, boozy, childless life pre-Eloise - hosts a fabulous inter-faith holiday concert. This year I was sober enough to send a little clip of Eloise and me singing along with Fairytale of New York.

Lots of entertaining, heartfelt, beautiful and adorably embarrassing holiday videos can be seen. Go. Now. Fill yourself with holiday spirit and then come back and tell me how cute my kid is.

http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2010/12/15/the-fifth-annual-blogger-christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah-online-holiday-concert/

The weather has been a slight challenge and we find ourselves indoors a bit more often then usual.

Impromptu photo shoots happen frequently.

Baby Tings are everywhere

When Eloise turned 9 months, one of the babies we knew around her age started walking and I thought, wow, that's early! When Eloise turned 12 months old a few more of the babies her age had started walking, and I thought, ok, she can take her time, no rush. When Eloise turned 15 months old and nearly all the babies we knew her age were walking but her, I complained to the other mothers. I want her to walk already! It would be so much easier, I said. The mothers said to me, with one eye on their baby who was running away, careful what you wish for! Enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts!

And now at 16 months she is walking, and yes, there is more running around and chasing and the danger that she can get into has upped my mom senses to amber alert. But because my friends had prepared me for this next step, I feel ready. And since we waited so patiently, I am still in the proud mama bear phase (ps. Eff you Sarah Palin for taking the "mama bear" concept and smearing your giant Alaskan poo all over it). But what I was not prepared for was the spread of the baby things. Her junk is EVERYWHERE. What used to be contained to little pockets of pre-determined Eloise areas is now invading the rest of the house.

After she is in bed and I go around tidying the house up, I find rubber ducks in kitchen cabinets, baby spoons on book shelves, children's books in the bathtub.

She is taking over the house. And it kinda makes me smile.

Seizieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

Eloise -

I won’t tie in the last few days with my recap of your 16^th month on this planet, because if I did I would have to say that you’ve been a hot snotty mess with the ability to cry at the drop of a hat and cling to me or your father like the world around you is crumbling. But you’ve got a fever and molars the size of child’s fist breaking through your gums so we’ll ignore the last few days. Especially since this month is the month you learned to WALK! We’ve had little steps here and there and that great running-at-an-ever-decreasing-angle-between-me-and-the-floor-until-you-either-catch-me-or-I-face-plant walk. But this past week you have finally gone from bum shuffler to walker. You got a bit of Charlie Chaplin thing going on, and you often stop and look around you in surprise that you got this far and in even more surprise that the rest of the world moves so fast.

You love to sing and I am amazed at the speed with which you pick up new songs. I sing. A LOT. And I know one day you’ll get fed up with my singing and tell me stop. But for now, you love it. When I was pregnant I sang lullabies to you in my belly. I’d often take a bath at night to help ease the aches and pains and to have a calm place to let my pregnant emotions out. I would sing “Tender Shepherd” from Peter Pan and “My own Home” from The Jungle Book and The Beatles “I will” while rubbing my belly, feeling my body pulse with love for you. When you were born it was a few weeks before I could finish a lullaby without crying - my adoration for you was too new and intense and the words all felt too true. During your first year I sang to make you laugh, to calm you down, sometimes I sang just so the house would not be filled with your cries alone. And now 16 months of listening to me sing you’re joining in. And in tune. And it is awesome. Eloise, you can duet with me wherever whenever.

Along with the singing is the dancing.

You have different dance moves depending on the tempo. A slow song and you sway back and forth and I swear once I saw you raise your lighter in the air. A fast song and you are quick to rock your diapered hips and nod your head up and down.

You have also become a lot more affectionate. You hug and kiss on command - obviously not every time, but it is becoming less and less frequent that you’ll turn down a chance for a cuddle. The other day I was getting you ready for your bath and I put your sweater on my head, you stopped and looked at me with a huge grin, clapped a few times and then put your little hands on my face, pulling me towards you and planted a wet one on me. It was the first time you had kissed me without me prompting you and it was the best thing ever.

There are moments every day when my heart swells and I am overwhelmed at how much I love you. A new look, an excited smile, a contented sigh. You are my heart. And to think that my heart just might love me back, even just a fraction as much, is pure indulgent icing on this mammoth mama of a cake.

Je t’aime.

Maman

ZZZZZZZZZ

There's a half written letter to 16-month-old Eloise kicking around my computer. The post was written late because I wanted to surprise my mother who came to visit on the fact that her granddaughter is a walking being. The post is half finished because since my mother arrived Eloise went into full on sabotage mode and reverted to waking multiple times a night, nursing for hours non stop and generally complaining to whomever would listen.

I'll post more when I get some sleep that lasts longer than 3 hours and/or doesn't involve a snorting toddler trying to suck the life essence from me at 4am.

Until then....This.

Hover hover

Am I the mother I am because she is my daughter or is she the daughter she is because I am her mother? It is hard to see where her personality ends and my parenting influence begins.

At the moment I think I could be classed as a "helicopter" parent. When Eloise and I go to playgroup in the morning - big bustling rooms filled with newborns to four-year-olds and a whole plethora of toys - I struggle to leave Eloise's side - or rather, I guess we struggle to leave each other. I want her to be independent, to go forth and make friends and discover new ways of playing. Instead Eloise tends to either sit on my lap, or hold my hands as she walks around the room observing. When she does get comfortable in her surroundings and wanders off to read some books or play house, I try and keep my distance and chat with the other mothers, but I find I can't entirely take my eyes off her. To me she is just a fragile little child, incapable of running away or defending herself and when she is no longer attached to my jeans I fear that it will be only moments before she gets pushed down to the ground or the toy she's playing with will get unjustly ripped out of her hands.

But kids need to get pushed down, right? They need to learn to get back on their feet. They need to learn to share and also to learn that sharing is a tough lesson, one not everyone you come across will have learned properly. So when Eloise does (more often than not) end up on the floor in tears I squash the initial reaction to punt the other child across the room and help Eloise pick herself up and tell her these things happen.

But inside I'm thinking, Oh cruel world! What can I do to make sure nothing harms this beautiful little being before me. I hope I'm not alone in this (because if I were I would start to doubt my sanity) but ever since I became a mother, lost scenes from my upbringing have sprung to the foreground. I remember at my own nursery having the worried feeling that the adults did not have enough control, that there simply wasn't enough of them to witness all the injustice that was occurring on the playground. So clearly my anxiety has been there from the get go. What I don't want to do is pass this on to Eloise through nurture if she managed to dodge the anxiety bullet potentially handed to her via nature.

As I have spent these last 16 months getting to know Eloise, I can clearly see that she has a reserved personality. She takes her time and gets to know her surroundings before jumping in. She chooses who gets to see her with her guard down and who doesn't. I wouldn't call her shy. A) because I don't think she is shy and b) the more you tell a "shy" person they're shy, the more withdrawn they become.

I guess I'm just struggling to find the balance between honoring her emerging personality and exacerbating it.