We returned from a visit with Grandma in Buffalo yesterday, where Oscar and I both went through feeding camp. I usually ignore my mother when she tells me I don't eat enough, but this time I had to admit she was right. I had a good excuse though. I was worked up over flying alone with O the day after a horrible plan crash just outside of Buffalo. I think I ate a single English muffin the day we flew, and was, in general, oblivious to the fact that not eating might have something to do with my milk production going down. I was angsting about O not getting enough...needless to say, self-fulfilling anxiety spiral ensued. But Mom did her firm but loving mothering and sat us down every morning, making me eggs and toast and coffee and mixing a warm bowlful of rice cereal for O. After a week of this, Oscar slowly went from ambivalently eating to gobbling the beige fluff, squawking like a hungry baby bird when we didn't get the spoon back in his mouth fast enough. He gained half a pound, we think.
Strangely, for some reason during this last visit, I succumbed to all the things I usually fight in my mother's house: wearing her oversized full-length, pink fleece robe/house coat, swallowing the last bit of one meal while immediately planning the next, inviting the neighbors over, going to bed early. She was right about doing all of it (I usually begrudgingly admit this, her being right). The robe was luxuriously warm (and the zipper was great for nursing), planning made for more relaxed, enjoyable meals, the neighbors became human when I tried to get to know them and I needed the extra sleep. Routine, as it turned out, was as good for me as it was for O.
This is a video of Oscar gobbling up his rice cereal today. He absolutely amazes me. It also makes me think of my mother making me breakfast this past week and miss her.
