All Shook Up

We've been doing some things differently at the House of Whimsy this past week.

Last week EP Dude and I made the decision to attend Mass at a different parish. It wasn't an easy decision but we are very happy that we did. The parish we had been attending since our wedding is no longer recognizable. We started going there because the ones in our own town were, quite frankly, dreadful. We thought we had found a parish home, something that is very important to us, especially me.

As an Army brat, I moved around a lot growing up. It was always a huge comfort to me that no matter where we went, the Mass would be there. We were always involved in the different parishes, whether in youth groups, choir, lectoring, religious education, etc.

At the parish we just left, I wanted to become involved, but before I felt comfortable enough to do so, things changed. The wonderful priests were replaced. The nun who took over the parish kept interjected herself into the liturgy and even started giving homilies. Scores of parishioners were alienated and left, but for some reason EP Dude and I hung on. I think I just didn't want to let go, to give up. This place that once felt so right was gone.

So, last week we went to a different parish, one that hadn't undergone a similar transformation. (Those parishes are becoming few and far between these days, sadly.)

For the first time in a long time, I was calm on Sunday morning. I wasn't worried about having to hear questionable messages or lay homilies. I was able to focus on the Mass.

Unfortunately, EP Dude didn't quite have the same experience, since it was his turn to wrangle Wee Ninja Girl and she was especially cranky that morning.

Actually, we're all kind of cranky. I came down with some kind of sinus infection on Friday night, EP Dude had it (to a much lesser extent) on Saturday, and WNG was a bit under the weather herself until Sunday. I think we went through two whole boxes of tissues.

The Single Nap Experiment with Wee Ninja Girl went better than expected. On top of her runny nose, she's apparently teething or hitting a growth spurt or just being a total poophead or something, because she was extra cranky this weekend. Still, we're getting the hang of her new sleep schedule. We may be able to put her to bed at 7:30pm rather than 8:30pm, since she's been sleeping in until 9 or 9:30 every morning.

I cannot express the extent to which my life will improve if Wee Ninja Girl starts going to bed at 7:30pm.

We keep a strict bedtime routine with WNG, so she knows what is coming and doesn't freak out when we lay her in her crib. EP Dude brings her up and starts getting her in her night diaper and pajamas, and I follow a few minutes later carrying all the stuff that she scattered about the house during the afternoon and evening. Once she's ready, she nurses (the only time she breastfeeds at all), we brush her teeth, turn out the lights and she goes to sleep. We've been doing this for months and it's worked like a charm.

Sunday night, WNG threw an absolute fit when I tried to nurse her. Clawing, screaming, kicking, the whole shebang. She kept making the teeth-brushing sound (ch-ch-ch-) and trying to throw herself off the bed. EP Dude and I figured that since she was a bit under the weather, that we'd let her brush her teeth first JUST THIS ONCE and then nurse her and put her to bed. She didn't go down easily, but we blamed that on her stuffed nose.

Monday night, same thing. After brushing her teeth and kicking myself for giving in the night before, I settled down to nurse her. Except she wouldn't latch. In fact, she didn't even want to be on my lap. So, I put her in her bed where she fussed for two minutes and fell asleep.

So yeah. It wasn't the cold or the teething. She just didn't want to nurse anymore. Ouch.

I always planned on weaning her around 12 months of age, since she's eating such a variety of food and loves cow's milk, but it just felt so harsh. WNG cut out the other feedings on her own as she ate more "people food" so it's logical that she decided when to stop it altogether.

I knew it was coming. Her nighttime nursing only lasted about five minutes total and she spent most of the time goofing around. It's like slowly peeling the bandaid to make it hurt less, but then ripping it off when it's still good and stuck. (There is your lame analogy of the day, folks. Enjoy.)

So why do I feel so utterly rejected? It's silly of me, but I just can't help it. I actually cried a little bit last night.

I'm such a baby. And my baby is not such a baby.

*sniff*

Okay, I'm totally depressed now. I'm going to go eat some oatmeal raisin cookies I made yesterday and watch another episode of Doc Martin on Netflix. I highly recommend the show, unless you don't like British stuff, because while it is hilarious, it's also very, very British.

P.S. I've even found some time to crochet, but since it's a gift for the next family birthday, I won't post the pattern until after it's been received. But, rest assured, I will post the pattern! (I know you've all been wallowing in despair at my lack of pattern posing. Admit it.)