… and how are we doing at nine months?
Totally Smitten Daddy and I realised that Bibsey has been out in the world now for as long as she was in the womb. Wow! Where did the time go? At nine months she is pretty much doing all the things that they say she will in all the books. Of course they also say in all the books not to worry if they are not jumping through all the hoops, as babies develop at different paces, but you can’t help but slightly pat yourself and your clever baby on the back if they are.
Bibsey is gorgeous and happy and plump. It seems my breast milk could fuel a formula one car. Haven’t we done well? Hmmm. There is of course always this creeping doubt that I have been doing the certain things wrong from the get-go. And I do dread that bloody question: And how does she go down to sleep? My answer being: On my bloody breast of course. Yes. Still.
I know I know. She should go into her cot awake. And I should plant a kiss on her forehead and tell her goodnight mummy loves you. I should then leave her in darkness while she self-soothes herself to sleep after maybe having a little goodnight chat with her cot toys. Ha! Not in my house. Ok, I do know that I am not the only one who is not achieving this. But I can’t help thinking that I have not tried hard enough to get there.
Of course I have chosen the ‘path of least resistance’ school of child rearing which, on a good day, I am calling attachment parenting. However, on a bad day, I am calling it flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants or just doing-whatever-it-takes.
So, to get back on brief. Here I am, nine months in, and wondering how I will ever a) get her off the breast and b) get her to sleep without it. Regarding a), this has to happen fairly soon (by 12 months is my aim) because I am not sure how much more my boobs can take. The arrival of gorgeous dientecitos (two little teeth up and two down) has marked the beginning of the end for breastfeeding here. I know that the duration of breastfeeding is a very personal matter and entirely down to individual choice for mothers and babies. I just know that since Bibs has taken to diving headfirst down my top in search boob (most recently and hilariously while I was Skyping a London Supermummy I know), I need to take steps to avoid any ‘bitty’ situation.
Er. Good luck with that then.
