Melissa Anne Cohen

When I first got pregnant with Jess, I knew that I’d breastfeed. Of course, I’d breastfeed. Are you kidding? Fix it so that my baby would have to be fed by me and only me? Absolutely… I mean, sure, there’s all the health benefits, but after almost 29 years of loving little babies that weren’t mine, not being the mommy but being the favorite sitter, the best aunt… but not the mommy – I wasn’t going to miss out on a second of what I thought was the epitome of motherhood. Jess was a nursing champ from the beginning – no trouble latching on, and it was really, really easy. Don’t get me wrong – it hurt like hell in the beginning, and she never took a bottle, so all my pumped breastmilk went to waste (I used it for cereal when she started on solids), but it was a great experience. And she weaned on her own, with no stress or trauma – just gradually dropped a feeding or two after she was on solids, until she was done. At eight months.

I was disappointed, I wanted to go the full first year, but really felt like I had to honor her choice. I wasn’t going to coax her back or fight her on it, she was just done, and had done it so gradually that my milk dried up quickly once she was finished. She still loved her ‘fier’ (pacifier) and continued to use that until she was four or five (I really can’t remember now when she gave it up for good).

When Sam was born, I was of course going to nurse. And this time, I really, really wanted to get the full first year in. Like Jess, he latched on immediately and was great from the beginning. Sam had colic – which is just horrible, crying and crying and crying for no real reason, and the only thing that helped was nursing. He was also diagnosed with reflux, and again, the only thing that made that easier for him was nursing. He derived so much comfort from breastfeeding, much more than Jess did. A year came and went, with no sign of him stopping. Like Jess, he never took a bottle, but transitioned to solids no problem. He just never transitioned off nursing. He LOVES it. Really. I’ve never seen a kid love to nurse as much as he does. He’s got a personal relationship with my breasts, sees them as separate and distinct from me. And now he’s two and a half, two and three quarters, really, and I’m so ready for it to be done.

There’s a lot of pressure to wean. My family thinks I’m out of my mind crazy, spoiling him, keeping him a baby, etc. I think even Marc thinks I’m slightly insane. But it’s been so easy, such a quick easy cure for anything – if he’s sick, hurt, unhappy – he falls asleep so easily nursing. I don’t regret nursing as long as I have – but I am ready for it to stop. I would like another baby at some point, and the thought of tandem nursing freaks me out. I think I’d lose my mind with two babies on me – or worse, one tiny baby and one big boy. I’m in no rush to get pregnant, but I do feel as though I’d like a little time off between nursing and being pregnant.

So my new plan (implemented yesterday) is nursing ONLY for sleep. And we’ve already fought about it, he wanted to nurse last night before stories, and I refused. Kept repeating “only for sleep time, you aren’t going to sleep, no nursing” and again this morning. I nursed a little bit, before either of us were awake, but once I woke all the way up, I refused. And he cried, we fought about it for about five minutes, but he adjusted easier than I would have predicted. Nursing is only for sleep. He’s getting closer to giving up that afternoon nap, he’s pretty much dropped it on the weekends already, so soon I’ll be down to just nursing before bed and once he wakes up. And once we move… he’ll have his own bedroom, and I’m hopeful that he’ll be sleeping in there all night, and we’ll be able to drop the morning session as well – and then gradually eliminate the night one.

As it turns out – I actually have nice clothes. Like many stay at home moms, I imagine, my wardrobe has dwindled down to my husband’s old t-shirts and leggings. I’m not sure why this is – but I’m hazarding a guess that it’s a combination of not wanting to ruin your own nice clothes with spit up and chocolate and the realization that as long as your kids are dressed nicely, nobody really looks at what you’re wearing anyway. And I’m consistently frustrated, when I actually want to put on real clothes, because I can’t ever find any. I had one nice outfit, casual, cute, and figured that was all I had. But I went thru my dresser, filled up a trash bag full of clothes that either don’t fit any more or had too many holes to be even remotely acceptable. And lo and behold, I actually found stuff. Real clothes. Nice clothes. They’ve been hiding underneath all the crap.

I’m off to take a nice hot shower, and get myself dressed. Of course, I’m probably still going to wear Marc’s t-shirts, because I’m spending the day with Sam and honestly, now that I’ve found the nice clothes, I want to save them. So they’ll stay that way ;-).

One of my best friends in the whole wide world just found out she’s miscarrying. And I’m so sad for her. I’ve been frantic ever since she told me that she was spotting two days ago.

I miscarried a twin pregnancy before Jess. At precisely the same time that she’s miscarrying now. And there’s never been anything in my world that hurt that badly. There are still times, almost seven years after the fact, when I still tear up listening to a certain song, or thinking about what my twins would have been like. I remember just the overwhelming sorrow and weight of grief… it changed the way I look at the world, the way I look at everything. I felt so vulnerable, so lost. I had bonded so immediately to that pregnancy, that was my baby, and I wanted it more than anything. And losing it… I still don’t have words to describe what that was. I lost a big part of who I was, the way I looked at the universe and my place in it, I lost my belief in a benevolent God, I lost my sense of control over my life.

I have two gorgeous children, and they’re smart and funny and tender and kind and I love them more than I can possibly express. I have a husband I love and cherish, and if we hadn’t gone thru that loss together, I don’t know that we would have lasted. We probably would have, but I can’t say for sure. He lost my babies with me, and I’ve never forgotten how much I needed his strength and consistency at that time. I have a whole life that would have been different – and I love where I am, I love being a mom to these children I have, I love dreaming about the children I have yet to have. But I still mourn for my babies. I mourn for the girl I used to be, the mother I would have been, before I learned how fragile everything was, before I learned how little I can control the world around me. And today, I mourn for the niece or nephew that would have been, and for how one of my favorite people in the world is learning the lessons I wished I hadn’t.

They’re both getting so big so fast – it feels like all of a sudden, they’ve both morphed into these new creatures.

Sam’s a kid now, he’s not a toddler anymore, and he’s definitely not a baby. He’s got this distinct personality that’s unlike everyone in the house. He can be just as dramatic as his sister, but gets over things a lot faster. He still loves all things related to superheros (frequently, out of nowhere, I’ll hear him whisper to himself “Super Sammy to the rescue!”) and athletics, baseball, hockey (?? don’t even know where he heard of hockey) and football are favorite topics. He’s definitely still Mommy-centric in a lot of ways, but when Marc is here, he’s 100% focused on him. Sitting on Daddy’s lap, playing on the computer is a favorite activity. He loves to cook, both real and pretend. He’s very resilient, physically, little injuries rarely make an impact. He’s walking around with skinned knees from the other day, I didn’t even realize that he had fallen until we got home from the park. He hasn’t outgrown his bath phobia, and is still, hands down, the grubbiest little kid I’ve ever met. He’s affectionate, loves to snuggle up with me. If he’s sitting down, watching television, he always asks if I can sit with him, or if he sees me sitting, will climb up, just to hang out with me. Has no interest at all in potty training or in weaning, so he’s obviously not all grown up yet 🙂

Jess is growing up SO fast. She’s still my drama girl, loves nothing more than explaining how horrible her day is going, still makes stories up so I’m never sure if what she’s telling me is the truth or utter fantasy (I’m not sure if she knows). But she’s becoming so adult in a lot of ways, doing the dishes, or cleaning up after the kids. She still snuggles into me to fall asleep every night, is reading more and more on her own. She’s trying to decide between cutting her hair short or growing it long, but still wants me to pick out her clothes in the morning. She’s very affectionate with me, and to a lesser extent, with Marc, but you have to almost pay her to get her to hug anyone else. She and Lilli have grown closer over the past couple of months, and have taken to just disappearing into Jessie’s room when the girls are over and playing for hours, just the two of them. She’s afraid of her bike, still, but I’m hoping to get her up and on it this weekend. She’s become a lot more mature lately, more of a help around the house, more of a grown up girl – don’t get me wrong, she can still tantrum with the best, but I’m sensing a little mental growth spurt. To go along with the physical one – she’s all arms and legs – SKINNY arms and legs.

I feel FABULOUS. I just slept for about an hour, and it was wonderful. I’m sunshiney happy, I’m full of energy and think this might be the ticket to a brand new me. I took Sam to the library earlier, after dealing with a variety of crisises (convict trying to ditch parole next door, sheriff’s banging on my door, Relay for Life drama all over the place, etc), and had a wonderful time with the two kids (Sam and Jordyn). Wandered back home, let them play for a bit, then put them both down for a nap. Did a little cleaning, a little lunching, and then dozed off.

Life is really pretty good for me these days.

Jessie got sick, she puked all over the back seat yesterday. And without complaint, without discussion, Marc assumed total and utter responsibility for clean up. He crossed Rte. 9, on a Saturday night, begged papertowels and clean up supplies from strangers, cleaned the entire mess to the point where the backseat is actually far cleaner now than it was before she threw up. I sat in the front seat, with a naked, shivering girl, who was also burning up with a fever and whimpering, cuddled up on my lap. And when it was all done, he gave her his t-shirt to curl into and drove home half naked. (She’s much better this morning, thank goodness). I have never loved him more than I did last night.

Fully participating in the parenting, that’s my husband 🙂

Happy Mother’s Day!

Is it reasonable to expect a husband with a stay at home wife to share in domestic responsibilities? Does being a stay at home mom always mean total assumption of the house cleaning? Am I a slacker, does looking for an equal partner in doing the dishes and folding laundry and vacuuming mean that I’m not doing my share? I’m home all day, after all. I work here. And while I babysit during the day, it’s not like I’m not already engaged in caring for my children, so it increases the work, but not so dramatically that I can really claim as though it’s not possible to clean as well as take care of the kids.

I don’t know if I’m being unfair or not. Possibly I am. Marc works hard all week long. He drives Jess to and from school and is at work from 9-6, Monday thru Friday. And at the gym for two or three hours, two or three times a week. That’s a whole lot of time when he’s just physically not here. And since I am… I do the vast majority of the cleaning. And the childcare. It’s essentially my thing… occasionally, he helps me out, but the way it feels, it’s my job and he’s helping me by doing anything.

I’m feeling rather… overworked and frustrated at the moment… but really don’t have time to blog any more about it, because while I’ve done two loads of laundry, cleaned Jessie’s room, vacuumed, put away all the toys, rearranged the bookshelf, made the beds, vacuumed the living room, swept and mopped the kitchen and dining room floor and started the dishes, I still have to finish the dishes in the sink, clean off the dining room table, put away the dishes I’ve already done, wash the rest of them, wash the dining room table, vacuum the floor, fold the laundry and take a shower. All while watching Sam and Glennys – and somewhere in there, I have to cram in a shower.

Sunshiney happy once again. And all it took was a nice warm day, a morning when Jessie was happy about going to school, and a highly successful trip to the library. I’m feeling a lot more like myself, my hair is in a ridiculously high ponytail (always a good way to tell how cheerful I am), I took out a million new books that make me smile, and life is good once again.

Basically, I let her cry in her room for about 45 minutes (and she screamed and cried the whole time) and after I had cleaned the entire house, I went in and helped her get ready for bed. She was flipping out about a whole bunch of stuff, but mainly she had wanted to go for a walk to Elm Park, and it was way too far and way too late to be attempting a walk that long when she couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to explain why she wanted to go. So she was asleep by eight o’clock.

Marc played with Sam for a while, and then Sam came to nurse to sleep. He’s never going to stop nursing. I keep trying, I have refused to nurse him since he got up this morning – I’m really going to try and limit him just to falling asleep, and once I get him weaned off during the day, I’m going to work towards getting him to just snuggle to sleep. I do this with no real hope that it’ll work, I think I’m setting myself up for failure, because I don’t think he’ll stop until he’s fifteen. But I’m really tired of it. At least I am this morning. Clearly, I need more coffee.

Kids are healthy and happy (the previous night’s events notwithstanding) and Marc is clipping along nicely. Not a lot of romance and hearts and flowers these days, but we function really well as a cohesive team, and sometimes, that’s just as good. Relationships, my relationship, specifically, goes in cycles. We’re in a teamwork cycle now.

I’ve been kind of off, lately. Not depressed, because there’s nothing really bothering me, but I don’t feel as sunshiney happy as I normally do. There’s nothing concrete bugging me, I’m just not thrilled with everything. I wish Jess would start to enjoy school and stop crying about it all the time, especially because she’s really got no problems there. She’s doing well, has friends, is doing great academically, but she complains all the time about it. I wish Sam would stop throwing things (it’s his newest obsession – he screams “blastoff” and throws whatever he happens to be holding across the room) and try as I might, I can’t break him of the habit. I wish he’d stop nursing on his own, or at least let me stop nursing him without the tears and misery that I fear I’m in for. I wish Marc would come home and be all happy to see me, as opposed to just… existing and hanging out on the computer.

Maybe I just need some chocolate? Only that brings up a whole other issue, which is that suddenly, now that I’m 35, my metabolism is not working any more and I’m suddenly chubby. My clothes don’t fit any more, which makes me sad, which makes me reach for the chocolate, which… see? It’s not going well in my world.

Okay – let’s review (with a positive spin, because I’m starting to depress the hell out of myself).

1. Jessica is beautiful and bright, doing exceptionally well in school. No hint of any behavior issues, she’s an angel the entire time she’s there, and I know that she’s doing well socially. Her hair is growing nice and long, and she’s debating cutting it short like Anne in Anne of Green Gables. She’s reading more and more, and we’re switching her to a new school next fall, where hopefully, she’ll feel more challenged and excited about going. But when I think about the problems that we COULD be having with her, really, I’m so lucky.

2. Sam is really starting to come out of his shell. He’s talking more and more to people, carrying on involved conversations. He’s so funny and getting so big. And the nursing – you know what? Nursing until your child is almost three years old is a hell of an achievement. That takes time, love, dedication and I’m proud of myself for going this far. And he’s a GOOD kid, he’s engaging, fun, and I’m really, really proud of the boy he’s becoming.

3. Marc loves me. I never doubt that. And he comes home every night, you know, when he’s not at the gym, and I never, never doubt that his first priority is always us. Hearts and flowers are lovely, but steadfastness, loyalty, and a sense of having a partner for it all are more important.

4. I’m really, really healthy. No health problems, and I’m probably just all hormonal.

Okay – I’m feeling better. This time, really. I’m smiling and I’ve got a bright, beautiful day ahead of me. I can decide to be miserable or happy (isn’t that what I’m always coaching Jess??) and I’m choosing sunshiney delight over misery or status quo. I’m a happy girl. Dammit. And life is pretty good for me. I just need to remember that sometimes.

But, oh, how I wish they did. Jess is in her in bedroom, sobbing her eyes out, and I’m not sure what to do next. Marc is all for leaving her in there until tomorrow morning, but I don’t want her to go to sleep like this. Basically, she’s been a walking temper tantrum since she walked thru the door, and finally, I just gave up and sent her into her room to cry it out. And cry it out she has, and out and out and out.