The Rest of the Story

As I've written about the 10K I realize my failure to mention an important part of this whole story. In order for you to fully know the "real" story, here is the rest of it... the inside scoop you might say.

I didn't sleep well that sacred night before the run. Night wakings left me anxious and tense. But it wasn't the early morning run that had me tossing and turning.

I'll explain.

I had always planned to pump my milk. I was prepared so a Plan B could be in place if ever needed. It might also give Ben an opportunity to bond with Shane during a bottle feeding. I collected three various assortments of bottles and scavenged the city until finding a decent and costly breast pump. That done, I waited for the right time to pump. "That" perfect time never came. I continued to prolong. I put it off. And being a stay at home mom and not being forced to make this decision and have incredibly good milk production, the next thing we knew Shane was turning 6,7,8,9 months. And I'd never pumped and Shane hadn't used a bottle.

I have been able to arrange my schedule around Shane's feedings. He no longer feeds for 30 minutes on each side. Now he's done in 7 minutes flat and it's more convenient that ever to continuing breastfeeding. My husband and I certainly aren't boring, but we're also not the party-central couple of the city either. We enjoy dates at home, movies, long discussions over dinner, reading in bed, and having friends over to play Moods or Pass The Pigs. We have gone out for movies, dinners and birthday parties and hired a babysitter and that's been fun. But nine times out of ten, we've chosen home-dates.

What does any of this have to do with this weekends 10K? The fact remains that I was not going to be home when Shane woke up in that morning and he'd be hungry. "Starving" is the feeling (and the sounds) I get from him every morning. I would already be running and the guys were to meet me at the finish line.

My delima was in handling this new challenge, and this new idea of me not being able to supply Shane with food when he needed it just about killed me. Dramatic, I know. I FELT dramatic. It FELT like a dramatic situation. I was suddenly not able to arrange me being there for him when he needed me. Fact also remains that I could have pumped that week. I could have begun early that week planning the time to fill a bottle, to freeze the milk, to pump when he slept. I could have tested him to see if he'd take the bottle. I could have done all these things and those were all good thoughts my husband and I discussed. But I didn't. Chicken? No, not really. I am simply comfortable with our routine. I like being the one who fulfills Shane's need of sustenance. And that comfortableness is just enough motivation to find another way, an alternative plan to feeding him other than with a bottle. For now.

..and anyway, what if Shane didn't take the bottle? He'd go hungry. He'd be anxious. He'd feel the disappointment that only a 9 1/2 month old baby knows. And I'd be the one who made him go hungry. I'd be the one who filled him with anxiety. I'd disappoint him.

And that's the root issue deepest in me, the thing that kept me up that night before the race, that kept me dreaming about a baby who went hungry. Because of me.

The rest of that story, is that I finally figured it out. I woke Shane up (which I have never done so, for a feeding, even when he was a newborn and sleeping 5-6 hour stretches during the day). Gathering him in my arms in the dark at 5:30 a.m. he fed until satisfied, then I laid him back in his crib, walked out, jumped in the car waiting for me, and headed to the starting line of the 10K. Shane quietly fell back asleep for another two hours when he woke with Ben, for breakfast not of milk but rice cereal and bananas.

The guys met me at the finish line both smiling and faces filled with the morning sun. Shane leaned into me and put his head on my shoulder. His outstretched arms gathered me up into his little body. He wasn't starving or even hungry. He was okay. He even smiled at me. He wasn't mad. I hadn't disappointed him after all. There were not lasting scars on his fragile infancy that would mark him for life.

There is something so deep, deep within me that dies at the thought of not being able to offer Shane what he needs. I'm not talking about a toy truck or a lap to sit on or even a snack to nibble on during the day. I mean those "other" needs, the need for food, the need for loving kisses after a fall, a blanket to keep him warm, the simple act of Love.

The night before the 10K run, I tossed and turned anxiously because those very thoughts of holding back what I know he would need in the morning (the milk that I produce and my body provides for him). It left me with terrible feelings of guilt and sadness. Extreme, I know. Even irrational. But I can't explain this gut-instinct in my soul that tears at the thought of Shane being in need and me not doing something about it.

It all worked out. He still trusts me. On the way home that morning after having a hearty breakfast with our running gang, I asked Ben just one more time, "So, Shane was okay this morning? I mean, when he woke up and I wasn't there to feed him..."

We could hear Shane in his car seat. His voice babbled mamama-baba-dadad-nanana-mama-nanana. Not a care in the world. I settled back into my seat and enjoyed the rest of the ride home. My legs were achy anyway.