Mommy says that she is forever in my debt. And not just because I’m me. In all of her busy-ness, she says the only time she is still and at peace (besides sleep time) is when she’s nursing me. The funny thing is, I cherish that peacefulness, too.
As I get older, our nursing moments are getting less and less, yet still I reward her with a gentle touch of my hand, and a delicate positioning of my feet nestled under her shoulder, close to her.
But really, Mom’s rewarding me. We’ve all heard the benefits of breastfeeding, among them that breast milk is more digestible; I never have to wait for it to heat up; and it lowers my risk of asthma, protects against diarrheal infections and decreases my chances of contracting Hodgkin’s disease, osteoporosis and other words I’m not quite sure about but that sound scary. (See more reasons – 101 of ‘em – documented here.)
And, just a few weeks back, Mom read how researchers in Australia discovered that breastfeeding not only gives babies like me everything we need to meet our unique nutritional needs, but may also contain stem cells that could serve as key markers to guide our development into adulthood.
How cool is it that the benefits of Mommy’s milk may one day transcend beyond even these cherished nursing moments?!
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*For moms and dads:
Mom always talks about how the days fly for her, being so busy with my sister and I, her career, Daddy, family, kickboxing, the dog, the house, life. For me, things are a lot simpler, which is why the past week and a half of being under the weather really bummed me out. It felt like forever and a day.
But alas I awoke this morning rejuvenated and refreshed. Gone were the crankies. My mouth and gums had de-pressurized. Behold, I was no longer a “pod baby.” (Dad kept referencing some movie, “The Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” pondering aloud, “Who stole my happy J!?”)
I’ve realized that I am just like one of the trees I always admire when looking out the window (one of my favorite things to do). I started out peaceful and still, yet as I grow, I begin to catch more breezes. I move and bend with each passing wind — sometimes fiercely waving, other times slowly rocking. But always graceful.
Mom says that even when I cry, whine, fuss, and fret, I am forever beautiful and precious and delicate. Is that what love is?
Low-grade fevers bite. And so do I. What is it with teething and temperatures?!
Every time Mom stuck that thermometer-thingie under my arm last week, I’d sense her despair. She would just stare at it while I whimpered, and then sigh while exclaiming “It’s still 100.2!” We took a trip to the pediatrician, and thankfully – no major sickness was ailing me. “She’s just fighting something,” Doc Z. said. Fight? I’m a baby — I don’t have it in me to really fight.
So, fast forward a full week, and since I no longer have Infant Tylenol stains on my onesies, we’ve figured out that those low-grade fevers were foreshadowing teething fun (not!). Now I’m being attacked by the crankies to beat all crankies.
Mom’s worried I’m going to just stay this way, transform from a happy baby to a writhing wailer. I can see why she thinks that. Nothing makes me happy – not Mommy, not Daddy, not Sister, not the dog, not nursing (well, maybe once in awhile), not my baby cookies, not the TV, not my toys, not my books … only — the bathtub.
There’s nothin’ like a little splish-splashing (with a wet washcloth in your mouth, of course) to wash away the blues. For now, at least.
