In a Little While We'll Be Home Forever

My mom was the original Rocktomom.  From the time when I was a little girl, up until the day she died, and I'm sure even dating back to when she was a child, music had a very powerful influence in her life.  She always told me that she envied what I did on stage.  "It must be so fun! It must feel so good to rock like that!" she would tell me, anytime she came to see my show.  And she came to almost all of them.  She was by far my biggest supporter for being in a band, and wanting to perform in general.  I remember when I broke up with one particularly suppressive boyfriend, she asked me, "So does this mean you're going to focus on your music again?" She had noticed that I wasn't singing around the house as much, or involved in any performance outlet.  She had noticed the difference in me.  Anytime my life was steering off track, she would notice, and she would tell me about it. 

After all, when her life had veered too off course, she made a change for herself, with a little help from The Boss.  At the time of my mom and dad's separation, Bruce Springsteen was on the rise.  "Dancing in the Dark" was a huge hit, and Mom had already seen him in concert, and reveled at the fans who she first thought were booing the sex pot on stage (only to realize that they were actually calling his name: "Brooooooooce!")  I think Bruce really helped open Mom's eyes to the things in her life she thought were missing.  "You can't start a fire without a spark" was the lyric that literally sparked her into action.  Although it shook our family's foundation and caused problems in our childhood, Mom separated from Dad and made a change that would later result in both she and Dad finding their true soul mates.  She bought herself a red convertable Fiat and I will never forget the sound of her ring tapping against the stick shift as she bounced to whatever song she would blare on her radio when driving us to-and-fro.  Her thin blonde hair would shine and shimmy in the sun while the warm smell of her cigarettes would fill my lungs as it dissipated into the wind.  As even younger kids, we would ride around in her blue Pinto, playing roller coaster in the rear facing back seat while Mom rocked out to Rick Springfield, Hall and Oates, and CCR.  But when Mom traded it for the hot rod Fiat, it seemed to come with a bonus: Burt.  He was a mechanic, and he told Mom that "Fiat" was actually an acronym for "Fix It Again, Tony!"

Mom and Burt went to lots of concerts: Oingo Boingo, Heart, Eddie Money.. and I always wanted to come along.  When I was in the later half of high school they finally brought me along to Oingo Boingo, and I was instantly hooked.  When they brought me to see Heart they became my favorite band instantly.  And in the 6th grade, when Mom brought me to see Madonna at Angels Stadium, it changed my life forever.  I wanted to BE the next Madonna; I wanted to make people crazy just as she had demonstrated to me on stage that night, July 17, 1987.  Mom was right there by my side when that happened in my life.

I can't attempt to wrap Mom's life into a neat little package on my journal, pretending that it was all music and magnificence.  Nobody can be reduced into such a simple summary.  But I came here today wanting to express what happened in those final days of her life.  Mostly so I can get it out of my head, but oddly, so I can also remember.  I've often used my journal as a backup to my memory, which is only human and bound to fail me someday.  Memories can't be shared when they sit inside your head, untold, and I'm not sure how I would be able to share this, if not in writing. 

When Mom was in the hospital the week before she died, Lindsey brought in her iPad, and started playing songs for Mom that she thought might cheer her up.  She was too sedated to comprehend most of what was on the distant television in the upper corner of the room, and reading would have required far too great an effort.  Conversations often didn't make sense, and she was hallucinating frequently from the heavy drugs.  Music, we discovered, was one of the only ways to share a peaceful space with Mom, in those final days.  Lindsey was playing anything she could to occupy Mom's mind, as well as the dull quiet and sometimes alarming tones of the ICU.  We talked about Bruce, of course, and Mom told us that her favorite song from Bruce was called "Downbound Train."  We lost the ability to download at the hospital, but I went home that night and listened to it.  It certainly wasn't "Dancing in the Dark", and I wondered why Mom would pick a song that seemed so down-beat, and dark, from an artist who had always lifted her up.  Still, as she said it was her favorite, I made sure I didn't come back without that song on my phone.  I played it for her the next day, and she kept up as best as she could, singling along with him:

"Last night I heard your voice
You were crying, crying, you were so alone
You said your love had never died
You were waiting for me at home
Put on my jacket, I ran through the woods
I ran till I thought my chest would explode
There in the clearing, beyond the highway
In the moonlight, our wedding house shone
I rushed through the yard, I burst through the front door
My head pounding hard, up the stairs I climbed
The room was dark, our bed was empty
Then I heard that long whistle whine
And I dropped to my knees, hung my head and cried
Now I swing a sledge hammer on a railroad gang
Knocking down them cross ties, working in the rain
Now don't it feel like you're a rider on a downbound train..."

As I reflect on this in the aftermath of her passing, I believe more and more that Mom became aware that her time was coming.  Otherwise I can't imagine this would have been the song of her choice.

We started taking song requests from family and friends on CaringBridge, the website we had been using to provide updates on Mom's condition and also for receiving words of love and encouragement (which were, sadly, often too tough to share with her).  So many people found comfort in focusing on the happy times with Mom, and nearly everyone struggled to limited their picks to just one or two.  Uncle Mark dedicated "No Surrender."  Brother Dave wanted "She Loves You", and plenty of others suggested "anything off Rubber Soul or Sergeant Peppers" (she adored the Beatles). A couple of people suggested "I Won't Back Down" from Tom Petty, as well as "No One Lives Forvever" by Boingo (a song that Mom had long requested played in her memory, as it was pretty much her life's anthem).  I started compiling all of the songs on a play list, and came up with my own list, which still grows longer by the day. 

We played as many of the songs as we could for Mom in the hospital the next two days, but she soon took a turn for the worst.  She wasn't actively listening very much, under such duress from the pain and discomfort.  We waited anxiously for an ambulance to arrive so that we could take her home and into hospice care, to die in her room, as we all knew she wanted, and soon she was heavily sedated, in preparation for the transport. 

While we waited, music became more beneficial to us for therapy even than for her.  We listened to "Dance With Me" by Orleans, and I told my sisters I wanted to play it at my wedding someday.  I think they knew what I was thinking.  I was full of regret knowing Mom was not going to see my wedding day.  (This is one thought I don't sit with for long, as it hurts too much to dwell on things we can't change, and ultimately it doesn't matter.  If I ever do get married, I guess I will have to find a way to feel like she is there, or simply accept that she is not, when and if that day ever comes.)  (I think that is a separate post altogether.)

At the risk of crying like little children, while we waited, we also listened to some sad songs.  I took a chance and played "In a Little While" by Amy Grant.  Although she hadn't requested it in the hospital, she had previously informed us that she wanted this one played at her funeral as well.  I think it was much more fitting for our time in that moment, that day, hoping she could hang on just long enough to make it home.  As she slept, Amy and I sang quietly, knowing this was a kind of prayer for her, as much as anything:

"In a little while we'll be with the Father, can't you see Him smile?
In a little while we'll be home forever, in a while....
We're just here to learn to love Him
We'll be home in just a little while."

I don't know if Amy Grant knows how healing it could be for a family to utilize her wisdom at a time like that, but I am forever grateful for that song, and how it truly reminded us that peace was on the way for Mom.  Much of my faith as a young Christian came from Amy Grant's music, educating and reminding me that Jesus was by my side always, and with such beautiful storytelling and personal experiences that made me believe in everything they taught me at Church.  When she switched over to pop music in the early 90's and later got a divorce, I struggled with feelings of personal betrayal.  I can only imagine how she ever managed to cope with this kind of backlash from her fans.  How could one person shoulder the responsibility for others' faith?  Nobody but Jesus could possibly manage that, and look what he had to endure.

Once Mom made it home (on a wing and a prayer!) the last sign of life I remember her giving me was when she was backed into her room via the rear door, and I told her she was home.  Her face changed, into a look of either true relief, or genuine anguish.  Was it relief that she made it out of the hospital and finally back into the home she created and shared with her true love?  Or was it anguish and pain, knowing that these were her last days, if not hours, and anticipation of grief and loss, leaving us behind?  This, I will never know, but in my heart I believe it was the former. 

Our home was full of family that day.  People who had come to demonstrate love for Mom, for us, and to say their goodbyes.  We each had our time in her room, some of us in groups, others alone.  I just kept kissing Mom's hand and head, telling her I love her, while I watched her suffer.  She had become so emaciated, her eyes sunken into her head, a gray glaze taking over the seam, her hair missing, but no regard at all for wanting to cover her head anymore, like she had ever since cancer had first confiscated her bloom.  We filled the house with laughter and music that night, holding the "Party" she had talked about in the hospital, watching old videos of her entertaining and frolicking with the family, listening to her and watching her light shine on television.  Hospice gently advised that we should not keep the party going indefinitely, as Mom will want to hold on longer.  They couldn't have been more right; Mom would not have wanted to miss the party.

The next day was Saturday, and we kept things quiet.  We all knew she was not going to make it much longer.  In my mind, she was already gone.  Once a person can't function, including speaking, eating, or looking at their loved ones, their live is over, and Mom would have absolutely agreed.  She wasn't looking at us.  She was barely moving.  Her feet were cold and swollen; the inside of her mouth was turning black.  Her breathing was hollow and belaboured. 

I took my time alone with Mom, and I did what I could to help her separate.  I cleared my throat, prayed to God for strength to do one perfect, intimate, selfless performance of prayer through music, for Mom's enjoyment, for her to take with her.  I sang for her, and even though she was already gone in my mind, in my heart, I know she heard me:

Let me say once more that I love you
Let me say one time, maybe two
That I love the way that you love me
and I wish I knew more of you

Tell me that time can't erase
This look of love on your face

Let me say once more that I need you
One more time or just maybe two
Oh my life will always be richer
For the time I've spent here with you

Tell me that time won't erase
The way that my heart sees your face...

I sang the whole song, just as Amy and I had done on the day Mom married Burt.

Then I sang the other Amy Grant song she loved; the one that first touched my heart.  This was my final prayer for her, it was a perfect, uninterrupted moment, as I felt the presence of God in the room with both of us.

El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
El-Elyon na Adonai,
Age to age You're still the same,
By the power of the name.
El Shaddai, El Shaddai,
Erkahmka na Adonai,
We will praise and lift You high,
El Shaddai....

Though your words contained a plan
They just could not understand
Your most awesome work was done
Through the frailty of your son.....

He was with us, and He helped me sing this perfectly.  Mom had received her last rites in the hospital, but I was blessed with the ability to give her her final song.

I did not stay with her that night.  I wanted to be with my son.  Mom had started aspirating, and I couldn't bear to listen to or watch her suffer.  I knew her spirit was ascending already and leaving her body behind.  I had already bid her goodbye, as best as I knew how.  Maybe it was selfish not to stay with my sisters and Burt for support, but I did not want any other lasting memory of her.

She was gone just after midnight.  My cell phone was programmed with a special zylophone ringtone for when she would call me, and as soon as Jess and I were awoken by that playfully plunked progression, we both knew.

That was her final song for me.  Upbeat, exciting, and full of fun.  And it, too, was perfect. 

22 Months

The most amazing thing so far about being a parent is observing how quickly your child can change. Over the summer I watched and marveled at how every day, as we walked up the stairs into our home, Matthew became more and more skillfull at making his way up the stairs, with less and less help from me. He went from crawling up the stairs to standing while holding both my hands, to using the rail and holding only one of my hands, and so on. Today he is almost worthy of handling it without supervision, much less needing to hold my hand, but I still try to help anyway. The same goes for eating cereal every morning for breakfast. He still opens wide like a hungry little bird, but he is gaining confidence over the spoon and asking for less help. I have to make a concerted effort to back away from the table and offer less help, so that he gains the right amount of confidence.  He is falling asleep at much more reliable intervals, looking sleepy the moment his head hits the Thomas the Train pillow, and calling "ni-nite" as we walk out of the room.  We found our window of opportunity and finally ditched the pacifier without much drama right around 20 months (hooray!!)

Matthew's love of all things cuddly and sweet is perhaps the most endearing thing about him at this particular age. He still has Teddy, whom he adores, but he doesn't have a particular preference for him so much as an overall need to give love to cute things. He has a little Alvin chipmunk doll from his weekend with Aunt Amy, a "Gary Bear" who saved the day at Aunt Sue's, a Pooh Bear from Mommy's guilt trip to Disneyland without him, and now he has Mommy's childhood Puppy, and they all make him squeal delightfully! He gives them kisses right on the mouth and then passes them along for kisses from anyone else within reach. He loves to play hide-and-seek with them, and bursts into a squeaky, celebratory laugh whenever he discovers them cuddling together on his Elmo chair in front of the TV. He also has generously imparted this affection on all family and even new friends, giving kisses right on the lips when it's time to say goodnight or bye-bye, and his hugs are squeezably snug, as he wraps his arms right around the neck with all the strength in his soul.

I'm not sure I can believe it could get any better than this.

Bouncing Toddler

Today I had to pick Matthew up at daycare a bit early. They called me and said he had woken up from a nap and was really inconsolable, pulling at his ear. It sounded to me like an ear infection, so I cancelled my dentist appointment and went to go pick him up. He was fine by the time I got there, playing happily with one of the teachers in a private room. But as soon as we got in the car he started screaming. Once we arrived at the doctor's office, he was once again perfectly fine, playing in the waiting room and pointing at everything and saying "Mama." The doctor checked out his ears and his lungs and she found nothing wrong with him; she said it was a "false alarm" and could be teething. Then she gave him his next two immunizations that were scheduled to be given a few weeks from now. Bless her for saving us the return visit. But of course the shots sent him wailing all over again. He's a tough cookie so he didn't cry for long, and by the time we got home, he was all smiles and play while Svaddka cleaned our house. I guess maybe this was Matthew's way of getting me back, since I had planned to use my day off to do a bunch of personal errands. I still accomplished a lot (conference call with my cousin about work, donated blood, oil change, laundry), but once I found myself in Matthew's room, watching him wield his toy guitar while bouncing and staring at his future rock star image in the mirror, I became truly grateful for the change in plans. The truth is, I am feeling more and more guilty for having him in day care, but especially on my Senior Fridays. Two weeks ago I kept him with me, and we went to Pretend City, and had an amazing day while it poured rain outside. So today I needed to do other things. I have a chipped molar that needs dental attention, but I'll just reschedule. My little guy is so much fun right now, and these days truly are numbered. One would think it would get easier to be apart from your baby as you return to work, but now that he is doing so much more than staring up at the sky and sleeping the day away, it is harder than ever to lose precious moments with him. He is walking independently and can do so even faster when I am not holding his hand. He can push himself on his dolphin ride-along toy. His favorite game is "I'm Gonna Getchu!" We played that the other night while crawling through a fort I created in the livingroom, complete with overturned chairs and big swooping blankets. He was squealing with excitement every time my head popped up from the cavernous maze. He loves to take my sunglasses from my face and wear them, or chew on them. He can say, in his own baby way, things like "bath time," "all done", and "dog." Every time he is lifted out of the car he starts pointing things out and asking questions (but the question is just a simple "ah?") He dances to just about any and all music, and he has his own signature moves. Jess calls it "Follow The Hand," and our friend Angela says it includes hints of "The Laurie Bounce." He really likes American Cheese, fig newtons, bananas and pretty much any citrus fruit. We are working really hard on vegetables, but so far the only easy ones are soy beans. We cuddle in our bed every morning while he has his bottle - one of only two bottles he usually has per day. He is doing really well with sippy cups and using a spoon, and this weekend we will practice regular cups. His teddy bear is his best friend and he probaby wouldn't sleep without him (and the binkie, unfortunately). He also loves to play with balls and do acrobatics on our oversized leather couch. I relish the weekends for trying new things with him and soaking up his early toddlerhood. He is very well behaved at restaurants still, so enjoy that while we can, right? He always wins over waitresses and can be occupied with books and small cars between bites of french fries - another food favorite. He waves at strangers and waves at Daddy when being carried off to bed for the night. He can also obey the command to blow kisses, although it looks more like he's trying to cram something slippery into his mouth. He doesn't yet give kisses to others, and hasn't been known to bite, but has been bitten twice at day care for stealing other kids' toys. I have lost count of how many teeth he has, and today at the doctor's he weighed in at over 27 lbs. I cannot wait to hear what he has to say once he learns how to use language to its fullest extent. I look forward to all of the firsts that are still before us: first haircut, first trip to Disneyland, first time on an airplane. Will he play guitar, or the drums, or will he want to sing? Will he be a good friend and have good judgment about his friends? Will he use as much of his big head as possible for making the right choices in life? I know that parenthood will get more and more challenging as life presents Matthew with all of its peaks and pitfalls, and I look forward to being a resource of wisdom and strength for him while he learns to find the same for himself.

Matthew's First Birthday

Happy Birthday, sweet baby!
I cannot believe how fast the year has gone. But I want you to know, I didn't waste one moment of it. I have been giving you love and making sure you have everything you need since the day you were born, one year ago today. And in return you have brought me the greatest joy I have ever known! What a wonderful baby you are, and I know you will grow into a fine young man!



You awoke in a great mood today! Right away I began letting you know that this was your special day, and that you'd be getting even more love and attention than usual. Your Daddy and I cleaned up the house and he fed you your breakfast while I went shopping for some party items. I came back with a bouquet of balloons, much to your joy! While you took a morning nap (a rare event these days), we decorated the dining room for our expected guests and the Guest of Honor (YOU!)






I stood you beside your growth chart today and was amazed to reflect on the fact that you have grown nearly 11 inches since you were born. You have added 1/3 to your height and more than tripled your weight! You are a very healthy, sturdy little man!





Your birthday cake was a banana cake, and it just happened to be sugar-free because that was the recipe I found online. My priority was in giving you bananas, which has been your favorite food since you began eating. As it turns out, the fact that the cake had no added sugar in it (except for the lite Cool Whip I put on top) was a blessing, because you shoved fist-fulls of it in your mouth! You weren't interested in the vanilla ice cream because it was so cold, but since you were so content sitting in your high chair with your face and hands covered in cake, I gave you a second helping!

























On hand to help celebrate this wonderful day was your Grandpa Dave, Grandma Laurie, Uncle Scott, and cousins Luke and Nate. We all wore party hats and played with your new toys, which included a wooden train set, a dump truck, and a set of books. We played all day and celebrated you into the evening, with a toast over dinner.


















I look forward to celebrating you all my life, my sweet baby boy!

Love,
Mama

Every Day a New Discovery

This week you discovered your hands. You were sitting in your high chair, and I was feeding you dinner. You like feeding yourself finger foods, so we try to incorporate some waffles or pieces of bread, something you can grab in every meal. After you successfully maneuvered an item into your mouth, your moving fingers caught your attention. You chewed slowly, examining the hand that had caught your attention, the right one. You moved your fingers gently, and reached your left hand over to touch them. You turned your right hand backwards, and then frontwards again, checking it out thoroughly. You waved it a little bit and then examined your fingers again. I was in awe watching you, imagining the wheels turning inside that big head of yours, realizing for the first time that that hand is yours and you can use it as you wish.

You are scooting across the floor, using your hands to pull you forward while your big toe helps bring up the rear. You have made progress in this technique over the past 10 days or so, and you lift your butt up and position yourself on your knees, but you haven't graduated to full crawler status yet. We're in no hurry, as you are so adventurous and fearless, that once you figure out how to move quickly, you're gonna take off. You are also "cruising" furniture; holding on while standing up and working your way around each piece slowly. Your favorite place to do this is on the ottoman in your room, which I covered with a blanket that has a big fuzzy doggy head on it. You can't pull yourself up there yet, but once I position you in front of him, you do your little crackle laugh (almost sounds like a cough) and grab him by the ears and nuzzle him affectionately. Of course you also still have to taste everything, as part of your normal development. I don't think that fuzzy doggy tastes too spectacular, though.

Today I am taking you to your aunt Amy's for an overnight visit, while your Dad and I go out to dinner and to a Halloween Party. This is the same party we went to last year where I incorporated you into my Humpty Dumpty costume, which everyone loved. You were adorable even before you came out! You are going to be a monkey for Halloween, and I am going to bring your costume to Amy's so you can play dress-up with your cousins, who I am sure are anxious for the holiday to arrive. Tomorrow we are going to Alpine Village in Torrance for Oktoberfest, which I know you will love. Anytime we take you among crowds of people with music and great, happy energy, you light up like a Christmas Tree.

At nine months old, you are truly the most wonderous thing that has ever happened to me! I love you with all my heart!

Five Months

Dear Matthew,

Tomorrow you turn five months old, and this is my first entry in over two months. When people tell you that your child is going to grow up fast, they mean FAST. Compounded by my return to work and our limited time together, you are growing at a pace I can barely keep up with. Every day after I have fed you your breakfast - which you still take on the boob, thank you very much - I hold you up so you can stand on your own two feet and ask you, "How much did you grow last night?" You always respond with a smile and an outward look, as if you might have some idea of how many wonders in the world are waiting for you out there.

So much has happened since I last wrote about you, I regret that I haven't documented more of it. There was your baptism when you were just three months old, for which your Godmother Josie came down from Alaska, and a party that was attended by all of your family and just a few close friends. It was such a special day, and came on the heels of a wonderful evening I spent playing rock and roll with your Dad and Grandpa. I am so glad that your other Godmother, Aunt Amy, talked me into doing a real Catholic baptism for you, because the experience was such a special one and felt truly reverent and sacred. More than once I held back tears that day, and not just from sleep deprivation, but because you, my first born son and light of my life, were dedicated to God and Jesus in the most perfect way. Even in the photos it was said that God's light was shining upon you.








My return to work has got us in a new routine that involves two days at a great day care facility, book-ended by a day with Daddy and a day with your Grandpa. Every other Friday I am off work and I relish spending the whole day with you uninterrupted, as we go shopping together, take walks and sometimes jogs to the park, and play together all around the house. I always put you on your tummy and help you sit up, and recently started practicing spoon feeding you some peas, rice cereal, and sweet potatoes. So far it's the sweet potatoes you prefer, and you won't happily eat anything that hasn't been warmed to the perfect temperature. But even when you fuss, you really are such an agreeable baby, and your Grandpa had a great day with you today, saying you were very "readable." Not only that, but you actually enjoy when I read to you, as I have from your first Bible, which was a gift from Josie. I also read "Goodnight Moon" to you. Your Dad likes to turn on "Yo Yo Gabba" and "Sesame Street" for you while you stand in your exercise gym we just got for you at a garage sale last weekend. Mommy thought it was time to change things up for you and give you some new challenges to stimulate your mental and physical growth. When I dropped in on your pediatrician's office last week just out of curiosity for your current weight, you came in at 17 pounds, 12 ounces. Whoa baby!



You are such a joy to wake up with every day. Now that we have you in your crib, sleeping on your own almost 12 straight hours every night, I actually miss you while you are in dreamland. When I do finally hear your sweet voice talking to your mobile or maybe just to yourself somewhere around 6:30 a.m., I walk into your room, put on my biggest smile, and say, "Hiii!" Your response is absolutely irresistable. You hear me first, look and see me second, and your whole face lights up with an excited smile finally. Today I even saw your arms open up and ask me to pick you up. I usually spend a couple of moments just enjoying your reaction, though, and marveling at how you've woken up to the world and find it such a happy place to be, every single day. Hold on to that spirit, Matthew, as it will carry you very far in this life.

Your Dad and I spent our first whole night away from you two weeks ago, when we went to the Central Coast for my friend Rebecca's wedding. I was a little anxious to leave you - yes, just a little, even though many moms are much harder with this milestone - but I knew you would be in the best of hands with your Dad's niece Alisa. (We call her Auntie Alisa but she is actually your cousin.) We dropped you off early on a Saturday morning and embarked on an extremely romantic getaway to Paso Robles, where we spent the entire afternoon wine tasting, before going to Zenaida Cellars for the ceremony and reception. The wedding was beautiful and the reception was lovely, and we enjoyed glass upon glass of red wine while dancing and singing and simply enjoying an entire evening to ourselves for the first time, really, since you were born. I wish I could say I slept in at the hotel that evening, but I am so auto-programmed to your routine that I didn't get any more sleep than usual. No matter; for the most part you give me and yourself all the necessary sleep on a regular basis. You are SUCH a good baby.

I was thrilled to have you back in my arms when we came to pick you up on Sunday, and last weekend I was off on Friday and I spent the weekend playing with you and loving on you as much as possible. All day long I am kissing your cheek, squeezing your chubby legs and holding your little hands, pulling you up into a sitting position and helping you lay down again. I want to be there for every smile, every giggle, every tooth and every tear. I always tell you I've got you covered, and that you will have everything you need as long as I take care of you. And I will, baby, I promise.

Love,

Mama

Mother's Milk

I have posted before about how much I enjoy breastfeeding, but I need to post about it again, because this week brought about a classic case of not knowing what you have until it is taken away.

Due to one of the greatest modern inventions of the 20th century - the electric breast pump - going back to work full-time no longer necessitates the end of breastfeeding. I have spent this past week at work taking a break every two-and-a-half hours to pump milk, taking it home at the end of the day and bottling it for Matthew the next day.

That is, until Wednesday night, when something tragic put an end to my udder bliss. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say I am now of the belief that latex and lube should always be sold in bundles.

Thursday morning I made an important stop at the pharmacy for the so-called "morning-after pill", to put an urgent stop to the immediate expansion of Matthew's family tree. I inquired with the pharmacist whether it was safe to take while breastfeeding. As the line of people behind me grew ever longer, he explained to me that even though the drug doesn't indicate a warning, it includes a strong dose of estrogen and I should probably consult my gynocologist on the matter. One hesitant phone call later and my doctor's nurse directed that I should probably "pump and toss" for the next couple of days. Stubbornly refusing to accept defeat, I put in a second call to Matthew's pediatrician, who indeed confirmed that the drug would not be safe for my baby boy.

I was heartbroken. As if it weren't enough that we were already in the midst of our first week apart from each other. The dreaded guilt of a working mom was immediately compounded. The morning and evening feedings had just become our own special time to literally reconnect! My first visit to his daycare center was during my lunch hour and specifically designed to include breastfeeding; to remind him that I was still close by and would never abandon him. Now, because of our birth control FAIL, my little handsome man would be getting nothing but a bottle until this forty-dollar drug could work its magic. And even THAT was only going to happen on a prayer.

I swallowed my pride and followed both doctors' orders, and Matthew has been happily accepting the bottle at every feeding, getting everything he needs. I try not to pout about that, and am happy that my baby is adjusting well to the new routine. Obviously the separation anxiety is mostly mine to bear, and I am doing fine in all honesty. Although I must admit, I would much rather be walking him to the park, doing tummy time on my bed, or putting him down for a nap at any given point during my work day. The closeness I experienced with him is now reduced to 10-minute pumping sessions in the breakroom, as I gaze at his newborn photo and massage out every last drop of elixer gold.

It's been nearly 48 hours since I took the second dose per the directions, and I am giddy with excitement to breastfeed him this evening. All of the pumping I've been doing this week (and especially the last couple days) has trained my breasts to fill more completely and frequently every few hours, and I am more confident than ever that he will be able to enjoy breastmilk only for the next many weeks, if not months. My goal is to continue breastfeeding until he is at least 6 months old, but now that I've experienced what it's like not to do it, I may end up going longer. Yes, it is a sacrifice, as I can't drink as often as others and there is some public awkwardness occasionally. But I don't know how so many mothers can voluntarily go without having this experience. For the closeness I experience with my baby, especially in this time of separation, right now I wouldn't give up breastfeeding for anything.