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I think that I have made it more than apparent that I’m, shall we say, *struggling* with this cross-country move (and by struggling, I am in need of a generous dose of percocet paired with a glass bottle of wine). I no longer sleep. The anxiety-induced insomnia is far too severe. And I spend every-waking hour (which is like, ALL OF THEM. ALL TWENTY FOUR) scurrying from one task to the next. I do love me some TO DO lists, but it has reached a level that even I, the list queen, cannot enjoy. Between the thesis, the packing, the husband that works 12-hour days, the crawling baby, the nutty dog, and the tender goodbyes, I am a woman on the verge. And then today, I came down with a cold, because, obviously. That God that I don’t believe in is giving me a swift kick in the ass as if to say, Best believe, bitty! But if there were a God, s/he would never do that, so we’re back to square one. (And I think I should save my Atheism for another day). ANYWAY!

What I’m saying is that there is a lot going on. One too many things I’m having to process and make sense of, all at the same damn time, and it’s more than a tad overwhelming. And to top it all off, because why not have yet one more emotional breakdown on top of a fairly consistent regime already, this weekend I finally “dealt” with the fact that I have stopped breastfeeding. Something I stopped about a month ago. And yes, only now, am I wrestling with the emotional consequences of this decision. I stopped immediately following my whirl wind trip east with the baby to participate in the final round of interviews for this job. For my trip out to Massachusetts I flew on a fully packed plane, in the window seat, with a screaming infant, and a bare breast, and two dudes to my right, and I’m awed that I lived to tell the tale. I arrived to my parents’ home, shell-shocked, and told James quite matter-of-factly that I would not be returning home to California, thank you very much, and that I was sorry that his child would grow up without a father figure (because obviously if I didn’t fly back to California it meant we’d never ever see each other again. RATIONAL is my middle name).

My parents, sensing the instability of their eldest’s nerves, stepped in, demanded I head out to Willytown without the baby, and promised that Addison would survive in my absence. So I did. I spent 48 hours, the first 48 hours since about month 8 of pregnancy, totally by myself, totally without responsibility, totally without disruption in the wee hours of the night, and sweet lord was it glorious. Selfishly, wholeheartedly glorious. I lay in the hot tub of my hotel room, a vision of bubbles and relief, and literally soaked in every second of that freedom. I then didn’t sleep a wink that night because every inch of my soul missed my daughter. But I guess that is part of being a mother. That entrenched, inexplicable connection with your child. Especially while still in the throes of breastfeeding.

While Sunny and I were apart, she survived on formula and fruit. And when I returned home from my interview, my parents were in a rhythm with the bottle, and my supply was low due to the 48 hour drought, so I just kind of stopped. I didn’t actively think through the decision. It just happened. The plane flight home was far easier because I didn’t have to perform a strip tease with my now very mobile, demanding baby. Then I got the job offer. After that, the chaos truly set in and I required far more assistance from our babysitter and friends. Plus, Addison had FOUR teeth and was more wriggly and restless than ever. So the choice to stop breastfeeding just seemed to make sense in light of it all. It felt right. And appropriate. And well-timed.

Except, I miss it. I miss it with every ounce of my person. I miss those quiet moments spent holding my child. I miss being able to comfort her so readily. I miss the connection I felt with that little person in a capacity that no one else shared. I miss her dependency. I miss her contented, milky smiles and the sweetness with which she would hold my hand. I miss it. Everything about it.

And oh boy, did all of those feelings that I had so buried in the chaos of planning this next stage of our lives reel their ugly heads this weekend. After rocking Addison back to sleep after a fitful 2am upset from teething, I cradled that sweet, sleepy babe and realized that moments such as that were so rare and precious in this current stage of her development. And that moments like that were far more frequent when I was still nursing. I came back into our bedroom, crawled under the covers, and just SOBBED it out. I’m talking snotty, wailing, HEAVE-crying. It was one of those moments where words were fruitless. James just quietly rubbed my back and let me mourn the passing of time.

I’m certain that there will be many more ugly-cries in my near future as I continue to say goodbye and move forward. And sadly, now that the babe is off the boob, I can’t just idly blame my jacked up hormones. Damn it.

But putting it to words at least helps with the grieving. And it gives me one more thing to cross off my list.

Blogging it out? CHECK!