Denver bound and The End of an Era

I usually don’t write on this blog on weekends because I’m try to be out and about and not cooking much on Saturdays. And this weekend is no exception, except that it’s more exciting than just eating out at local spots because I am traveling to Denver for a little reunion with my nearest and dearest college friends. So I am sitting here at Denver International Airport waiting for my friend Karima’s flight to arrive from New York before we get picked up by my other friend, Kita – of Enchilada and Tortilla Soup fame – and they have free wi-fi so why not write in.

I am very excited to see the ladies, but it also means leaving my baby behind for the first time in his short life. While I have enjoyed the hassle-free experience at the airport sans baby gear and unpredictable child, I’m definitely pining for the little guy. Damien emailed me a video of his morning – thanks for showing me that he hardly knows I’m gone by the way, Damien (you can see a small video below) – and I am sure he is in very capable hands, but I miss him. So I have gotten myself a large latte and need to distract myself a bit so that I am not thinking about him this whole wait.

It’s also a major milestone for me because it officially marks the end of my first breastfeeding experience. Breastfeeding was something I really struggled with at the beginning. I mean, really, really struggled. And I feel a lot of pride about the fact that I made it 8 months. It was a rough start and I thought about quitting a million times. But, I somehow managed to exclusively breast feed him through his first few months despite incredible pain and bleeding nipples, the nadir of which took place in a very warm, badly lit J. Crew dressing room, store clerks jiggling the door handle, when I pulled him away from me to see that there was blood mixed with the milk he had running down his chin – my blood. Sorry if that’s too much information, but it was even more traumatic for me.

But then, around 3 months, it very suddenly got better. Everyone had told me it would. It was so hard to believe. I mean, it was terrible. How could it possibly get better? Then, I don’t know if hormonally things started to even out or what, but just like magic, at 3 months Baz seemed to get his latch right and my poor tender boobs stopped aching. It was a miracle! In fact, I actually started to enjoy it. It was nice to have some quiet time, and there is nothing like your baby needing to eat to make you stop what you are doing and take a break to cuddle with him for a few minutes as he gets what he needs.

Toward the end I had gotten it down to once a day – in the mornings when he first woke up. It was a really nice ritual. He’d start to talk to the monkeys hanging from his mobile when he woke up. Damien would go pick him and change him and then bring him to the bedroom where we’d hang out, I’d feed him and we’d get ready to face the day.

I suppose we can still hang out in bed and Damien or I can give him a bottle, but that will require a trip upstairs and mixing of formula – just enough effort and technology to disrupt our peaceful, natural morning.