He won’t have any use for me when I wean him.
He gets way more focused attention from his dad. He gets way more silly fun time from his sitter and my friends and my mom. How on earth will I chill him out when I can’t just chuck him on?
Will he still know I am his mom when I wean him?
Why am I having these thoughts?
Is anyone else? Has anyone else?
When I wean him, why would he feel close to me? What do I have for him? “Oh good. The milk is here,” is what they said. What if they are right?
I am scared. When I think about it. Like I am right now. Not all the time. But yes, right now. What if I am just a walking dairy rack … what if?
I need to breathe. But I also need to acknowledge this fear. Let it in … to hopefully let it out.
Thank god I have girlfriends who don’t and never did breastfeed, for myriad reasons. I love you ladies. I love you even more right now when I am scared and worried and I have seen you with your bebes and of course they know you are the mama. This ghoulish phantom is just my own little intimate invention to keep me feeling frayed.
It is funny because it is not that Le Boeuf aka Felix is hanging off ma mamms 24/7. It is not as if we don’t go on hikes, eat real food, read books, explore, laugh, bathe and do stuff together. And yet, here it is. This fear that I won’t matter as just who I am.
Right? Someone else knows this fear. Don’t get me wrong. I am not a huge amazed conscious breast feeder. We both zone while Felix is feeding, as if we’re hooked up to a cable. But I like that. I love that. No one else can do that. That is my thing. My trick. Oh god.
It’s handy. He is a little bit grumpy — POP IT IN THERE. I can’t remember the last time he ate POP IT IN THERE. We are having a little sweet cuddle on the couch POP IT IN THERE. It’s just always been there. That easy street. That no-fail. Like I’m cheating, and the “real” parenting skills with have to surface once I don’t have this gimmick. And now I can feel vexed that I don’t think it is sacred enough. How deep a pit am I willing to dig for myself? There is always a bigger shovel about for the willing, I know that much.
I know I am over-thinking. Again. It is nutrition, “Breast is best,” … blah blah blah. Breast is nice. Wonderful and healthy. I will miss his little fat eyes on me while he is suckling. His fist bashing away at my breast to try and speed that damn thang up. I am not thinking about nutrition: I am having an insecure egocentric meltdown blast.
So there it is. I am afraid. But we’ll find out. Not today or tomorrow, but soon. I hope I’m wrong. That’s all I’ve got until then.