No More Nursing.

After weeks of deliberation and internal personal battles, as of last night, I am no longer a nursing mother.

As I wrote in my "Dear Anonymous" post a few weeks back, Spencer has always been very slow while nursing, approximately an hour per sitting. It was okay at first, but as I've gotten more busy, and he's gotten bigger, it just wasn't working out.

And pumping was, at first, but then the supply dwindled.

Last week, I had a conversation with Jillian about it, in which I told her I was contemplating ceasing, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I knew the end was near on Friday night when he was so upset that I offered to let him pacify himself, and he just wouldn't take it.

This morning, I did not have time to pump before church. On the way to church, it hit me hard, like a sack of stones, "it's the end for us."

The end of nursing, of pumping, of breastmilk (except for freezer bag reserves) for Spencer and I.

The only thing is, I know it makes sense to quit. It doesn't work for our schedule and daily activities, and it's become nearly pointless to pump with hardly anything to show for it... but I didn't want to quit. Really. That's what's been holding me back.

I've been exceptionally emotional about it all day.

I've cut that tie to my baby. It's like I've lost a part of our relationship, and I wasn't really ready for it. I wanted to nurse for at least six months, and hopefully a year until we started whole milk. I made it to four months.

Yes, that's better than many can say, but it just feels a little bit like failure.

Like I am not good enough a mother to him, to give him what I know he deserves.

And then, while I know it's not actually the case, I feel like ceasing nursing is almost like a punishment to him for being too slow. Like... if you can't do it fast enough, then you don't get to at all. And I don't mean for it to be that way. I know he doesn't think of that, because he really can't process it, but my adult mind realizes that's how I would interpret it... so I feel like he must, inside, somehow.

So, all day, I've been battling these emotions, these demons inside of me, the ones telling me I'm selfish, I'm a failure, I'm a mean mom.

And I look at him and cry, because he wants so badly to be able to have what I will no longer give him. I visualize how beautiful and peaceful he looked as he would snuggle up next to me to nurse, holding onto the center of my shirt with his one little hand... and I know that I won't have that with him, ever again. It's a real loss, one that I was unprepared for mentally and emotionally. I didn't sit and nurse him for every feeding, but I did cherish those times when I had the hour to give him, and now... they're gone.

I know he will forget soon enough those times that we had together, and he will be okay. I just hope that I won't cry too hard, for too long. I can't even help it. I cried at church six times to three different people!

A Miraculous Anniversary.

Exactly one year go this evening, Jake and I discovered that God had blessed us with a miracle. This was a miracle we prayed about for years, one we struggled with infertility in order to be rewarded with, for years.

This miracle, was a pregnancy.

This photo was taken on February 22, 2010, at 8:25pm central time, with my old cell phone. I was, unknown until that evening, 3 weeks and 5 days pregnant.

That day, I went to work early to do breaks for our wing, feeling bloated and very crampy. Truthfully, I "knew" my period was coming, so I was kind of grumpy. As the day went on and the cramps progressed, I just wished for it to actually come and get on with the show, so we could start the next cycle and try for a baby. I swear, I went to the bathroom three times as often as I normally would, in anticipation.

I went shopping after work, still convinced it was coming, and bought myself a few boxes of "womanly supplies" that I knew I'd need, and some pregnancy tests, just because the 5 pack was on sale.

I came home and had supper and drank a ton of water, and was tired. I decided to take a pregnancy test just so I could know to put in a tampon and go to bed. (Sorry if that information bothered you.) I really was convinced that it would be negative, but I sat in the bathroom anyway, taking off my nailpolish as I waited.

When it came up reading "PREGNANT," I knew it was wrong, so I left the room and sat on the couch to watch TV a little bit. This was approximately 7:30pm, and HOUSE M.D. was on! Yeah! Haha.

Anyway, I went back, expecting that the "NOT" would have appeared by now. I really was expecting it to appear later. It didn't. I was in disbelief and left the room and sat on the bed.

And came back, and looked at it again. "PREGNANT."

I left. Went to the kitchen and looked at the calendar to do some math. I had an hCG trigger shot (after a round of Letrizol to induce ovulation) on Wednesday the 10th, and they said to wait two weeks to test because there could be trace amounts left if you tested early.

"PREGNANT," still.

So I looked up online to see how long the hCG trigger would stay in my system. I looked up the exact amount I was given. All the results said that it should have been gone from my system in 8-10 days.

Back to the calendar. It was the 22nd. That was 12 days.

Back to the bathroom.

"PREGNANT."

I snapped the photo, shaking heavily, totally in disbelief and shock still. I figured the photo would prove to me that I was just seeing things and the "NOT" was actually there.

But it wasn't.

I sent a text to Jake to have him double check my math. Something about "What's 14 days after the 10th?" He told me that it was the 24th, so I asked about ten days, and he said the 20th, which I obviously knew, I'm not stupid, right?

So, I sent the photo to him.

And to my friend Desi.

Desi responded first, with absolute joy and elatedness (she also strugged for years with infertility, and was pregnant with her son at the time, we're like sisters). "You're PREGNANT MAMA!" Was the response, I believe.

So I told her how I was unconvinced and my math, and she assured me that the math was right, the shot was most likely gone, and really, false positives were nearly unheard of nowadays. She congratualted me with pure and utmost excitedness over and over and over.

And then, Jake called. "REALLY?!" he asked.

"Really what?" I asked back.

And he giggled and laughed in exuberant happiness for a few minutes, before I hung up on him. Haha.

He called back a bit later, overwhelmed with joy.

We were going to be parents!

Yeah, I was still trying to convince myself otherwise, really. It was too good to be true. Especially since I hadn't any expectation or anticipation for that cycle, really. I figured it wasn't the time. He said to take another test in the morning and call the doctor, but we were "HAVING A BABY, NICOLE!"

Yup, he was right. She was right. The test was right.

February 22, 2010 will be a date that I believe I will remember until I no breathe on this earth. This little plastic stick, this test, that miracle... was the best thing I'd ever peed on. Haha. Truthfully though, it changed our lives forever, and forever, we'll be thankful.

November 1, 2010, around 8:00pm this photo was taken on that same cell phone. Spencer arrived at 7:34pm after approximately an hour of hard pushing. We met our miracle.

Guess that shows how much I really know about God's plan.

On the corner.

Today, as I was leaving Wal-Mart after a trip there to get dryer sheets (seeing as how I lost the ones I purchased on Saturday before I even got to use them) and an exersaucer (because the used ones I've found are just about as expensive as a new one), I pulled up to a stop sign, where an elderly man was standing with a cardboard sign.

It read, "Trying to get HOME. Anything will help for my bus tickets."

Despite the four vehicles behind me, I put the truck in park and rolled down the passenger window, and stuck my hand in my pocket, pulling out a small wad of dollar bills that I had been carrying around for about a week.

He looked at me kind of quizzically at first, and came up to the window. I handed him the cash and he nodded at me.

He proceeded to tell me that he is trying to head 'home' to Montana, to surprise a son he hasn't seen in many years. He wants to make amends since he is turning his life around, but has no job, no car, and no money. He said nothing about whether he was homeless or not, so I do not know.

I felt peaceful giving him the money. I had no apprehension. In fact, I felt completely compelled to give it to him.

As he walked away, he told me "I pray that God blesses you."

I smiled at him and said, "Same to you."

I feel like he was telling me a truthful story. Who am I to judge and say that he wasn't? I know there are many out there who would criticize me for giving money, saying "oh, he'll just buy booze or drugs." Well, pfft to you. You don't know that either.

Now Accepting Applications:

I've decided that it would be fantastic if I could get myself a 1950's cliche housewife. Either that, or a maid.

I am very happy to be back working, spending time with my dear friend, Jillian, and her son, Grayson, (and her sister Brieanne and her husband Robert, too...) as well as providing some income for our family so I don't feel as worthless as I did while not making money.

But, it comes with a price.

Jillian and I, today, were discussing Spencer's new crying habits, and how they are probably a product of many things: ear infection (which seemed to start it all, though it was probably just the timing of that coinciding with the next parts), going to daycare, me working, and a change in our routine and schedule.

I know from experience working in an infant room that babies going to daycare for the first time have a bit of a shock and hard time adjusting (generally). I don't know why I expected that to be any different for Spencer. Just because I am going to daycare with him as a provider doesn't mean that it's different for him. He just doesn't have to adjust to a new care provider as that role is still mine. But, he does have to share my attention with others, just like those in other daycares would. He doesn't necessarily get picked up every second he cries (not that he did while I was on leave, let me tell you!), and sometimes he has to wait a little longer than usual for feedings. He has to sleep through more noise. You know, various things like that. So, that might be part (a big part) of why he's been fussier lately. I'm hoping he adjusts and gets back to his jolly little self.

Anyway, now that I'm working outside of my own home, I'm (obviously) not at our place much. So, while I divide up my attention during the day, it's just as divided at night. That means that over the course of a day now, SJ gets less of my focus than he ever has before.

That's why I decided tonight I could use a housewife or a maid.

When I come home, between oh, say 6 and 10 (sometimes I stay and visit), I not only am trying to have one-on-one quality time with my precious son, but now I have to use what little time I have left of the day to do the things I normally spread throughout the day (while giving most of my attention to Spencer and also trying to remember to eat and use the bathroom and such). So, I come home and want to just cuddle and play with him, but I also have to take the dog out, feed the dog, do the dishes, wash the clothes, clean up whatever messes are left behind, eat supper, and get ready for bed and if I'm lucky, the day to follow.

That's a lot to do on my own in a few hours.

I feel horrible letting him cry in his chair, or swing, or on the floor while I wash dishes instead. What I really want to do is lay down next to him and make him laugh and smile at me. I can't always do it. It often breaks my heart. I hate listening to him cry, knowing that he would stop if I'd just hold him. But, I can't always hold him! Ack! It's torment!

Anyway, so, I'd like to accept applications for my 1950's houswife or maid. Please provide two references and your own uniform. Thanks! Haha.

Ages Ago.

In church on Sunday, we as a congregation prayed for the family and friends of a local man, Kyle Bender, who went missing in December.

During the prayer, I broke down in tears.

I realized, "I know how they feel." Not entirely, no one ever does, but on many levels, I do.

In 1994, when I was 10, my 2 year-old cousin went missing for a few days. She was found in the river on her farm after following her puppy down the hill.

Even though I was young, I know the torment of the lost loved one. Granted, Carissa was only missing a few days, but missing is missing, and though I was young, I can feel that pain again, still. It's something I thought I had "gotten over," but now I realize, you never do. Sure, it doesn't haunt me in my dreams like it used to, but the pain is there. It's not debilitating as it was. Now, I just use it to relate, for the most part. Meaning, I just know how they feel.

My prayers are with anyone out there who has dealt with this, is dealing with it, or will deal with it someday.