So the time has come to wean the littlest one. I can hardly believe it's been a year but in six weeks we will be celebrating Abby's first birthday and I would bet my nursing bras that by that time she'll be fully weaned. It's been going on gradually for weeks now. She is such a social butterfly and can't stand to face away from the action that is her brother so day time nursing sessions have been few. Recently, however, she has been too flibbertyjibberty to nurse at night as well. This one is a tough one to swallow. I have cherished our night time together and have so loved nursing her to sleep for the night. Luckily, she takes the bottle from me now so I'm not without entirely. And now many other people can enjoy putting her to sleep by bottle and get that same intoxicating feeling that is helping a little innocent bundle of relaxed neurons drift off into LaLaLand. It's the most delicious feeling.
Knowing it's almost over is bittersweet, to say the least. It marks the true independence of my "baby" who is quite quickly becoming her own creature, great and small. It also marks the beginning of me getting out of those ridiculous tops that contain all this mammary. When I say huge, trust me, they're obscene (see them below? I wouldn't lie to you, Dear Readers and P.S. I'm sorry for making things awkward, Steve, and talking about my boobs so I won't be offended if you skip the rest of this although you've made it through the ickiest part so go ahead, the coast is clear.) Coming from a modest size pre-pregnancy chest size, it always makes me laugh when I catch a glimpse of them in the mirror. If they didn't come attached to the extra mid-section blech (such a winning consolation prize for years of sleep deprivation and feeding an entire human from your body, no?) then I'd have a chance at hot but alas, I'm obviously just a very nursing mom. And soon, I think like tomorrow soon, I'll be just a mom with a bottle or a sippy cup. Wow. How quickly the tides turn back.
What I'm looking most forward to is running again. Well, that's a hyperbole if I've ever written one. I've never actually run unless there was a screaming in pain toddler or a runaway dog at the other end of it. I'm a galumphy jogger at best but even with the shin splints and side stitches I miss it so much. Last night I had a mini-pity party for my plumpy self and took Sadie for a slow jog. She was thrilled. She was smiling. Her paws lifted high into the air as applause for our outing and she bit at her pink leash.
After we set off for our adventure away from sedentary I looked down at her and saw the one year old dog we adopted almost seven years ago. She is nearing eight now and it breaks my heart. Both of my girls are getting older and I am twisting from the inside out because while one of them I can accept for now (Abby), the other is far too accelerated and it is gutting me. Gutting. Me. I do the dog math and she is already over-the-hill and doing Pilates to keep her tush firm and her librarian arms at bay. She is aging as gracefully as anything I've ever seen and if the snow around her muzzle and ears wasn't there, I'd never know she was a day over four. But the snow is there. She has the tell tale age spots on her sweet raisin nose. Her nails have yellowed and her teeth no longer look like a commercial for Eukanuba Puppy Food. My girl is getting older and I'm a total mess about it.
These morose thoughts coupled with the hormonal roller coaster that naturally comes with weaning have made living inside my head a crowded place. I am not great in crowds (think situationally catatonic and you're close) so I press on to find the silver lining. So while I am sad to graduate from the nursing world permanently with my AbbyCakes (and believe me I could write another twelve posts on that sadness alone), I am also excited. Any excitement I can derive at weaning Abby is certainly 99.9% due to knowing that soon I will get out w/my canine "first born" more often during the week. Just the two of us on the open road (more like a series of cul-de-sacs and straightaways really but that's cool too) with the gait of a baby elephant, me not her, but the heart of a sprinting gazelle, her not me. We will break a sweat. We will burn calories. We will get into that little black dress. Sadie will look better because blonds just do but that's okay with me. I am simply looking forward to spending time with just her again, being her mom again and if I didn't know better, I kind of think she's been waiting patiently in the wings all along.