Despite the fact that nursing is Seabass’ favorite thing in the whole wide world, we finally decided to wean him. At 21 months, it didn’t feel cruel, but it certainly didn’t feel simple, either.
We chose to wean him somewhat gradually, going from four feedings a day (FOUR FEEDINGS A DAY!!) to just one in about 10 days. I’m happy to report that the morning feeding and the post-nap feeding disappeared fairly uneventfully when I could distract him with something like breakfast or a snack. But those pre-sleep feedings, oh oh oh. So tough. Seabass just looked up at me (and still does, sad to say) with his precious little cherub face, making a pathetic little “eee?” sound and the sign for milk furiously. Then we kiss him, put him in his bed, and he cries for about ten minutes until he falls asleep. It’s not exactly how I pictured his new bedtime routine, but then again, nothing in parenthood has been how I thought it would be.
Once Seabass was down to just one feeding per day, we went all out and took a “weaning weekend” away. Yup, as in Jake and me without Seabass in a remote location, enjoying ourselves. Selfish, right?
Whatever – it was dreamy. We dropped the little guppie off with his grandparents on Friday evening and had two whole nights in Palm Springs to eat at restaurants, see movies, sleep in, read the newspaper and live generally unscheduled lives. Glory, Hallelujah!
Palm Springs did us a favor by boasting 78-degree days, which we spent wandering the fun vintage design shops and lounging poolside. Of course, the thing we most looked forward to was sleeping in, however, the first night I slept in a whole three minutes. (Seabass had me on remote control, I swear.) The next night, though, I managed to reach 7:30am. Holla!
I expected my biggest revelation to be how much I love and cherish Seabass by being away from him. And while I do love and cherish him, the truth is I came away from the weaning weekend with a greater love and affection for Jake. In Palm Springs, we were just a couple of lovebirds again, discovering who the other is even after ten years. Funny how that whole discovery thing never ends with a spouse.
Apparently Seabass was “an angel” for Grandma and Grandpa. I’m not surprised. (I’ve always said that I was like an addiction for him – that if you removed me from the scene he’d be so much calmer and easier.) But when we met up to do the exchange at the end of the weekend, he melted down, predictably. Jake and I had been dreading the five-hour drive home, but only the first half was horrible. He slept the rest of the way.
So now he’s completely weaned, though he still wants the boob (and the boob is hard as a rock!) Whenever he asks for milk, I try to reason with him that “Mama’s milk is all gone.” But Seabass has never been much for reasoning. Instead, it seems best just to stay consistent and attempt to distract him from his laser-point focus on my chest.