Selfishly, I'm making this whole baby weaning thing all about me - instant mum fail! I'm horrifically emotional (see also: overly dramatic!) about this event, suddenly. I mean, my husband literally fed Bb an end of a banana, the most inoffensive (surely?) food item on the block, and I had to excuse myself, "I just need my laptop charger!" Shoot to, me scuttling up the stairs to "pull myself together!" What the hell is that all about?
It's true when they say that so much of this journey is in equal parts positive and negative, such a fine line in between those bad boys. A massive feeling of pride swept over me (imagine the OTT mum reaction I have in store for when he: walks, or gets a good grade at school, buys his own home, etc etc) as he grabbed the piece of banana and chowed down. And then I had to ask myself why I was whelling up... Mostly, the last six months has been me at the helm, steering the good ship 'breastfeeding,' through its troublesome seas. I've been there throughout the nights and over the days, trying (and often failing) to make sure I'm: hydrated, fed, *slightly rested* (at least, enough to take on, and continue the job). It is literally the worst and the best job I've ever chosen to do and each day has been, and continues to be, different.
Imagine how my husband feels? As a chef he's pretty keen on food, and some may argue there's a sadness to men not being able to breadtfeed and experience all that it brings, emotionally, physically, and in terms of bonding, there's nothing else to match it. So I was keen to say he could (not that he needs my permission!) do the first taste of solids. So I was happy watching the pleasure it brought to my husband to take the lead. But also a bit sad that I'm no longer the sole provider of nutrients for Bb, how selfish is that? I love that he can rely on me, and if he's hungry, tired, stressed (you name it, breastfeeding covers it) I can fix that for him. But it's also been overwhelmingly hard at times, restrictive really, and it's a relief that sharing the pie of parenthood can now be portioned out more fairly. The craziest thought crossed my mind also, at this banana moment, that I'm really going to enjoy feeding him overnight tonight. Isn't that crazy? That I'm now seeing the still - frequent night feeds as a private, secret, special bonding time? And do you know one of the biggest kickers about all of this? I can't even blame it on bloody hormones anymore! Because this is all me, me in my raw-est, selfish, self. Pure and simple. The guilt battle continues...