Lumps Under a Shirt

Lilly stopped nursing recently, even though we'd been slowing down to practically nothing for the last year. It was really hard to stop nursing, just the routine of snuggling in bed, even when the boobs weren't really doing anything. It was just a connection that is sad to shut down, even though she's old. I waited as long as I could. Now we just go to sleep like I do with the other kids, we talk and read and sing and then just snuggle.

But it's sad when a part of your life is over, when your boobs that worked so hard and gave life to little creatures for seven years total, are just returned to what they were before - lumps under a shirt. I think as a mom, that nursing was one of the most important parts of motherhood. I always felt prepared, I had guns ready for crying children. I supplied actual food out of my actual body. I was a buffet table, and provided comfort in a very organized, efficient and warmest of all ways.

My boobs are definitely a little let down to have resigned their posts. They're, in fact, wondering why they got fired. Standing by the water cooler with the rest of the staff and no one's talking to them because it's awkward that they don't realize they're off the team. Except they're still on me. Constant reminders of what is already finished.

Ah well. I did talk to my gyno about becoming a lactation consultant (to put a positive spin on it), and he gave me a number of a lady he works with. Maybe my life will become about other people's boobs. It would be nice to get people psyched for using their bodies to nourish their babies, and growing other people's connections to their kids. It's just such an amazing thing, what your body can do, and how much you can give to your baby, turn yourself inside out. It grows your heart so big. Can't explain it. All I know is giving up nursing is one of the most tragical things that can happen to a person. The only worse tragical thing would be never having nursed at all. I guess you know things matter when they come to an end, you're bittersweet about the whole experience. That's when you know, wow, my life has been good. I am moved, here. I felt something, I blossomed.

Anyway, I stood in the kitchen in the middle of my life tonight watching my kids draw cards for their gramma who is flying away on a plane tomorrow morning to a far off place called Merryland. She has lived with us for the last 9 (?) years. I have wanted to kill her and wrap her in plastic. I have also felt her pain, and watched her survive a few pretty bad illnesses. It has been an honor to be the daughter I have been and to care for my mom. As much as I cuss and complain about her annoyingness (and I spend a great deal of time doing this, I could have a whole other blog), the truth is, for all her wild inconsistencies and her weak areas, she's a beautiful, warped, rainbow human being that loved me in her own way. So I don't know what the future holds for her, or for us. If she'll even get on the plane. If she'll be gone forever. If she'll come back too soon. All I know is, like nursing, you give everything and hope desperately that things will be okay later on. But you still give everything because that feels so good. Even if my boobs are now just lumps under a shirt, I knew them in their glory. I'm still in there, believing in everything, no matter what shape my shirt takes.

Like the end of that movie Joe vs the Volcano, Joe and Meg Ryan are standing on the edge of a burning volcano and are being forced to jump in by angry natives. There is no way out. They stare at each other, sensing their doom. Then he takes her hand and shrugs and says, "We'll just jump and we'll see."

Every day, right?