Ben turned one a month ago and I had fully intended to begin to pull the bottle plug at the one-year mark, as we did with Maya. With her, it was a slow transition to the sippy cup that probably started a tad too late. I ended up ditching the paci firstbecause that had been her crutch, and then working on the sippy cup transitiononce she had that down. The whole transition took about six weeks and it was not easy; in retrospect I probably should have just cut her off cold turkey from her bottles, too.
Oh well, no harm, no foul: lesson learned for baby #2!
Ben never really took to his pacifier … and by the time he came along, our pediatrician was now recommending water in a sippy from six months on — and so he was acclimated to it somewhat. He didn’t have a problem drinking water, and when I introduced milk at dinner over the past two months, he would take a couple sips before whacking it to the floor in true baby fashion. I didn’t think the change would be as dramatic for him as it was Maya — even though I was going with a cold turkey approach to weaning, and I was right — but we had a bit of a set-back earlier this month. Continue reading “The Last Bottle”→
So I thought I had this whole “weaning” business figured out. After all, I nursed/pumped for nine months with Maya and then weaned her pretty easily. My supply was dwindling and I just pulled the plug (literally and figuratively). No problem. Within a day or two, my chest felt like “mine” again (as in, not twice its pregnancy/breastfeeding size). And I assumed that it would be a similar situation for round two.
What’s that line, “when you assume you make an ass out of you and me?” Definitely ate some crow this past week.
Unless we’re blessed with a surprise baby someday, sometime this week, I’ll nurse my last baby for the last time.
It’s a bittersweet milestone, one heavily laden in emotions.
Memories of the sheer frustration of early nursing sessions where I cried my eyes out because he wouldn’t latch and stay awake, his little body fragile and unfamiliar to me … to a morning like this morning, where I can tell when my milk has let down by how his suckling changes — from frantic suckles to even, nutritive draws while he tucks his legs up to his belly and buries his face deep into the curve of my chest.
We’ve fallen into a nice rhythm … and it pains me to know it’s me whose making the decision to stop.
OK, I never said the word “binky” until this post … but it worked with the alliteration I was going for, so forgive me.
I love the group-think aspect of Facebook. A few weeks ago, Maya transitioned to cow’s milk and my pediatrician had recommended putting it in the sippy cup from Day One. Well, she threw a hissy fit and would.not.drink. Period.
So after much crying, we gave her a bottle, which she sucked down like there was no tomorrow.
This week I completely expected to see a gain on the scale–even though it was supposed to be my first week back “OP” (what we Weight Watchers refer to as “on program” or “on plan”).
Last week I made it to the gym at 5:30 M-Th as I’d hoped, and took Friday off. I planned to go to Zumba Saturday but hubby had a study group and daycare at the gym doesn’t open til 9 (class is at 8:15) and then Sunday we had too much going on to carve out time to go, so I made do with long walks and lots of house-cleaning. But in spite of thinking more about my choices, my eating was still pretty craptastic … and I went over my Points by 48.