When to Wean

If it were up to me, I'd choose 12 months. That's right. Nola would blow out her one year old birthday candle, eat a piece of gooey happiness from her ladybug birthday cake, and then swig down her first glass of whole organic milk and decide boobs were for babies--and you know how Nola hates being a baby.

But breastfeeding isn't just about food. It is a relationship and like any other it has its ups and downs. Nola and I started our breastfeeding relationship in the delivery room when she latched on like a pro and nursed until she fell asleep. It was a blissful beginning followed by a lot of drama. There was the thrush misdiagnosis which caused a full month of utter hell. There was also my oversupply issues followed by suspected food allergies which led me to eating a diet free of all eight common allergic foods.

And I am ready to eat cheese again. I had a dream a few nights ago that I was using a huge hunk of cheddar cheese as an edible utensil, dipping it into various food items and scarfing it down. I know, in the light of day this is vomit inducing but in the dream (and for a few seconds after I woke up) it was pure dairy heaven.

But breastfeeding is also about comfort and love and connection. It is also the easiest baby calmer tool given to mothers. Baby bumped her head? Whip out the boob. Baby not feeling good? Whip out the boob. Baby need to sleep? Yup, that's right, whip out the boob. Would I even know how to parent without breastfeeding? Could I comfort her in other ways? Is she ready for that? This is a relationship and two people are involved so even though I am beyond ready to have my body back to myself, I don't know when Nola will be.

Back in the Saddle

So, writing a blog has been a little tricky lately, being computerless and all. Yes, one of the many byproducts of quitting my job was having to give back the mac laptop. But I have a new computer now! Actually it is my husband's old computer and he got another computer from his boss. No, it is not a mac. But it was free and beggars really can't be choosers.

In Awe

A few weeks ago I developed the photos from one of the two cameras we have. Over 400 photos of Nola. My beautiful baby girl. The photos of her just born. The one my mom snapped of her that she wasn't supposed to. I am so glad she did. Just born. Brand new. And yet she was already there. Why should I be surprised by her activity level? By the fact that she never stops moving? She would shift inside my belly all day long. My belly noticeably taking on strange shapes and curves throughout the day. She was having fun. She was swimming and playing and moving at will. Her inability to move after birth surprised and frustrated her. Nursing was her only comfort in this world. She still LOVES to nurse. And she is now WALKING. My not even ten month old baby is walking. I am so happy for her. She has wanted to walk since she was born and now her muscles are finally capable of carrying her through this world. I am so happy and so sad. And so proud. And most of all, humbled by the experience of motherhood. By the experience of being Nola's mother.

A Few Things I Miss About Los Angeles

The Getty Center
Venice Beach
Veggie Burger at The Counter
Eagle Rock
Paru's
The York
Liberals

In the Clear for Now

The results came back normal. I have a huge nasty oozing wound in my butt cheek but it is a cancer free nasty oozing wound!

Where The Sun Don't Shine

Back in November, I went to the doctor because I was still having issues down under from giving birth. During the examination she noticed a couple of freckles on my inner butt cheek and referred me to a dermatologist. Well, between Nola's tummy issues and the move, it took me until this week to get to the doctor. After seeing it, she scheduled me for a biopsy. Am I a little worried about this suspicious freckle? Me? Worry? Um, yeah. In fact, FREAKED OUT is more like it. But I have to wait two weeks to get the biopsy and another week for the results so I am trying not to fixate on it.

Closer to a Year Than Just Born

Nola is eight months old tomorrow. She is constant motion. I thought her goal was to walk. I am wrong. Her goal is to run. She is a giggling, screaming, crawling, babbling, standing, peek-a-boo playing ball of energy. She is so busy. She is consumed with life. She is everything bright and beautiful. She is my favorite person. My brother-in-law hypothesized that as soon as she learns to run she'll realize that what she really wants to do is fly. I think he may be right.