Sick? Growing up?

28 Sep

It would seem the little turtle has a penchant for getting sick every time the hubby has a three day weekend. This time it was, the doctor said, some kind of strep throat – the kind not picked up by the swab I felt they should do before prescribing antibiotics. So even though he wasn’t 100% sure that it was strep he prescribed antibiotics because the little turtle’s throat was “red enough” to justify it, even though doctors “go on about the over-prescribing of antibiotics”. Sound, I thought. He knows what he is talking about. The little turtle had stopped breastfeeding the day before, so I was more worried than I normally would be. Antibiotics will sort him out. Brilliant!

Then we got home and tried to give him the antibiotics. He got one dose. He would not take another. By that I mean he fought, kicked and screamed like a banshee. There was no getting it into him, even with the hubby and I both trying. You would have to see it with your own eyes to believe it. A “sick” fourteen month old boy getting the best of two grown adults, determined to try and give him his medicine. There was no way. (Even if my mother insists that if she were here she’d “get it into him”.)

We rang the pharmacy. Tried to find out if there was another flavour. No joy. Illuminous pink bubble gum flavour would seem to be it. And no other form. No suppositories.  Nothing.

In the end, we made the executive decision to give up on the antibiotics altogether. Any boy who can fight like that and somehow make medicine squirt out of his nose can get better on his own. And that is what he seems to have done.

He also seems to have given up breastfeeding. Cold turkey. He fed all morning and most of the afternoon on Thursday, so much so that I thought he would never stop and sat in the chair dreaming up ways to get him off me, so that I could at least go to the toilet.  Then he just stopped.  Now I know it must have had something to do with his sore throat, but he’s over that now. I think that’s it for the breastfeeding. He’s done. He did the same thing with his dummy, when he turned 6 months. Just stopped. Give him one now and he looks at it bemusedly but won’t put it in his mouth for love or money. It’s the same now with the boob.

I’m not sure how I feel about it. On the one had I’m excited. My body is mine again. And I’ll be able to buy proper bras again. Not the boulder holsters I’ve become resigned to over the last year and a half. On the other hand, my baby is growing up! He’s walking, talking, and feeding himself (even going so far as to forage in the cupboards when Mammy isn’t paying attention to the time). I’m also a little scared. Breastfeeding isn’t just about food. It’s also about comfort, security and love. It has given us a closeness that I’m not sure we’d have had if I’d bottle fed him. My dilemma now is how to continue to parent my little boy so that he continues to be the sweet and happy soul he has always been. Breastfeeding has been such a huge part of our relationship, I’m not sure what to replace it with. Sloppy kisses and hugs are what he’s been giving me to ‘replace’ (?) our milky connection.

Maybe it’s premature worrying about this now. Maybe he’ll wake up in the morning, mad for Mammy’s milk. And my dreams of bras will have to be shelved for another while. Maybe. But probably not.

A mother and her son. A relationship constantly in motion.

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