Six weeks have flown by. it's amazing how quickly they have passed. My little 7lb 7oz newborn is a strapping 11lbs (I'm estimating) and is becoming more aware and interactive by the day. The growth is a particular achievement given that the poor child has a good case of Gastroesophageal Reflux and therefore honks up much of any feed he is given. With baby Gaviscon he is doing much better, but he can still do a fairly impressive puke, and it almost invariably lands on the one bit of clothing that I have not covered with a burp cloth or on my freshly laundered sheets. Such are the rewards of motherhood.
One consequence of the need for medication is that I weaned the small one onto bottles for all but two of his feeds at 3 weeks. I went cold turkey. All the websites and books tell you to cut out feeds gradually, but patience has never been my strong suit, and I decided I wanted it over and done with as quickly as possible. Cue two days of a couple of b**bs like boulders and wearing cold cabbage leaves in my bra to stave off mastitis (it really works!!).
I maintained a morning and evening feed for the next 3 weeks, but every time he would bring massive amounts of the milk back up, usually soaking himself in the process. So, today, we had our last ever breastfeed. He fell asleep looking like a little milky drunk, happy and peaceful; I sobbed my heart out. I will almost certainly never breastfeed a baby again, and I thought my heart would break with the grief of having to let go. Oh, I know I could keep it up for longer, and Lord knows the tit Nazis would excoriate me for not nursing him until he's in his twenties, but my son and I have mutually decided that this is the right time. He isn't terribly interested when he breastfeeds, whereas he can pile back 5 oz in a bottle with aplomb; and I am looking forward to carrying around something slightly smaller than twin cantaloupes. But, my God it is a poignant decision. Still, I had Mr B take some lovely photographs, for my eyes only. Something to look back on and smile.
I know there will be many other milestones where I will weep at having to let something go. One day he will go off to school, stop wanting mummy cuddles, as me to drop him off round the corner so his friends won't see that he has a *gasp* mother! That's the buggery of parenthood: we are forever bound to our children, but from the moment they are born, they are moving away from us, becoming ever more independent until they need us only a little bit.
So I am going to go watch my sleeping son while I still can.
