the big W continued

I guess I finally am ready. The fact that I begin with, "I guess" means that I'm doing it, but only because it seems that the time has come. It doesn't mean that it isn't super tough. I just put her down for a nap. She has a fever and is grouchy and clingy. It's heartbreaking to ignore her, "Nurse? Nurse?" and read her another story instead. I don't even sit in our nursing chair because I don't want her to remind her of the good ol' days.

Backing up. We hit a couple rough patches earlier last week. She showed some true signs of being a toddler. Some night waking. Some freaking out. Some screaming and banging around in her crib, shouting out my name. Of course I hit the books. Apparently toddlers have awful nightmares. Separation issues. All of this is compounded by change. Not nursing is one of the greatest adjustments for a toddler.

I took lots of deep breaths and read on.

On Thursday night she woke up in a total state of panic. Jeff and I had a hugely important day at work on Friday (of course), so I was ready to do whatever it took to get her to go back down or at least to get her quiet so that Jeff could go back down. She went nuts with the nursing. After forty five minutes on one side, I tried to gently move her from my breast. The crying began again and demands of, "Nurse?" Trying not to wake Jeff, I moved her to the other side. There was still no stopping her. I was totally parched and exhausted, so I tried to put her back in her crib. Screams. Cries. Head banging.

I went back in. I tried real food. I tried rubbing her back. I tried singing. Still, when I put her back, the freaking out began again. My little sweet thing who usually is so happy to be in her crib with her Baby and Night Night, who usually talks herself to sleep sweetly, who usually has no trouble going to sleep was totally out of sorts. Three hours later, she finally succumbed.

It was a power struggle. It was not right. Nursing was a symbol for something else. For her control over me. For my weakness when it comes to her. We were thick in symbolism.

My friends kept saying that I had to be ready.

She pushed me over the edge.

On Saturday night we had our "last nurse." I had a dance party to go to, which was the perfect diversion for what could have been a weepy, wine-y, blogfest. Instead I talked to her about how she was a big girl and that this was her last nurse. She somehow seemed to suck in a more concentrated, focused way, knowing the importance of it all. I tried so hard to take in every sensation in those moments. I felt myself drifting off a bit, the dark room enveloping me, the sleepy calm that of holding your baby in your arms.

A few minutes later I came to.
"Mama say, mama saw, mou ma cou saw, mama say, mama saw, mou ma cou saw...."

Michael Jackson was singing us through these last, poigniant moments.

I wanted to laugh out loud. Of all the damn songs to pop in my head. It should have been something sentimental. Something that I used to rock her to when she was a baby. Norah Jones or Joni Mitchell. Womanly and maternal and deep.

Instead it was M.J., reminding me of how I used to shake my thang on the gym floor during half time at high school basketball games, "Wanna Be Startin' Something" the most fabulous of all our dance numbers. I was thinking about what kind of music the DJ would play at the dance party, thinking about if he'd fill the house with some good, old school favorites, or would he be all cool and cluby, house beats or bust.

Clearly I was ready to transition to the next phase of my life, take back the night on my body, get funky with my bad self.

And I did.

Oh, and the DJ was awesome and played lots of Michael (though he missed my number one jam).

Does that mean I'm not still totally sentimental about Elie being off the boob? No. I've had my share of spontaneous little bouts of tears, of kinks in the road. But I have a plan for every night this week and Jeff has agreed to bedtime duty. So I'll rock it with my girlfriends and my grooves and try to stay distracted, the same way I try to keep Els distracted when she looks at me with those ridiculously huge eyes and says, "Nurse? Nurse?"