We delayed solids with Rowan until he was six months adjusted, which just happened to fall on Christmas day. He was not convinced. He liked picking up the mushy carrots, but every time they would get to his mouth he would make a terrible face. I can’t even look at the pictures without grimacing in his honor. Judging by his diapers the next day he did at least manage to swallow a little bit. I would have preferred to not find that out by a poopsplosion all over the car seat, but what can ya do.
It feels more bittersweet than it did with Lorelei. Other than the added fortifier in the first couple of months, Rowan has been exclusively breastfed for eight months. From day one this was not the breastfeeding relationship I envisioned. All the pumping and choking and coordinating. Suck, swallow, breathe. NG tubes and milliliters. We worked so hard, and it felt so important to me because it felt so important for him. I will readily admit that I placed too much importance on a successful breastfeeding relationship, but I wanted something that I could do for him after spending so long feeling so helpless. The NICU is in many ways a spectator sport for the parents.
It is both a march farther away from the NICU and the beginning of the weaning process. If Rowan is anything like his sister, it’s a process that will take two years; I don’t think I need to start packing his stuff for college just yet.