A Cow isn't Really Such a Bad Thing

Yesterday, I wrote about Don giving me a pig and a cow pancake shape. I'm seriously hoping the pig was because ham is my favorite meat, BLT's my favorite sandwich, and I really like almost every other form of pork.

But, truthfully, there IS a story behind the cow. You see, I've been nursing for almost 9 years now - not all the same child, but I've worked through the ranks, weening one in time for the next to be born. In the case of Deanna and Dane, I actually nursed both of them at the same time. I didn't want Deanna to be jealous of Dane because her new baby took her place in Mommy's lap, so I decided to nurse them both for a time. I'd stack them in my lap - Deanna on the bottom and the new baby in HER lap. I really believe this is part of the reason they have such a close bond. From the moment we brought Dane home from the hospital, he and Deanna have shared everything, even nursing. You also have to figure in that Deanna was standing right outside of the Operating Room door when I had my emergency C-section with Dane, and she heard his first cry and got to see him moments after birth. She watched as they bathed him for the first time and cooed about how sweet her baby was.

Back to business. When Deanna was about 6 months old, I remarked to Don that I felt like the cow tethered in the backyard. It felt like my sole purpose in life was to provide milk for my growing family. If I had beans, broccoli or onions, Deanna got gas. If I had caffeine, she couldn't sleep. If I had wine, she could get drunk or damage brain cells. If I had spicy foods, she's get stomach cramps, rich foods would give her a tummy ache. Suddenly, everything I did - including eating and drinking - was about providing nutritious meals via my body for this little being who felt more like a part of my body than a separate entity.

I had to think constantly about what I was doing, including taking medicines, be certain I stayed hydrated, so I barely had time to think because I spent my whole life either nursing, getting ready to nurse, or cleaning up after nursing. I smelled like spoiled milk ALL the time and all my shirts had milk stains on the front that just doesn't come out in the wash. I would complain to Don about my frustrations and he would say, "Being the family cow isn't such a bad thing. You're providing for our children from your own body." At one point, he even took a picture of me nursing (that the photo shop refused to develop) because he thought I was the most beautiful ever when I was nursing our children. His feelings were really genuine, even if mine were a little more negative. He tried to encourage and, sometimes, succeeded. But, mainly, he learned to turn my frustration into humor by mooing at me whenever I was struggling.

One Sunday morning, while in church, Daelyn was sitting in my lap. He was over-tired, needed a nap, and just wanted to snuggle. He reached up and pinched me and in a rather loud voice, during an amazingly quiet moment during the service, said, "Mommy, NURSE ME. I need NURSIES." Embarrassed beyond belief, I sat there in shock while everyone within 3 pews of me turned around and smiled at me. Don, attempting to alleviate my humiliation with laughter, leaned over and moo-ed at me. He was trying to be quiet and only reach my ears, but missing by a longshot, and the same three rows in every direction HEARD!! Laughter indeed broke out. My face resembled a tomato more than a cow. But I knew, although Don had been a little louder than he intended, it was done in love. He really sees my ability to nurse our children as a tremendous gift so, for him, thinking of me as a cow is a bit of a compliment.

I try really hard to remember each time he moos at me or I spot my cow pancake form in the bottom drawer in my kitchen that it's a symbol of his love and respect for me. So I guess a cow shape isn't such a bad thing, after all.