Worst Thanksgiving/Best Baby Ever

We've hosted Thanksgiving almost every year since we graduated college.  I love making all those pies and drying all the bread for stuffing.  I've done it 2 weeks post-partum.  Seven months pregnant.  Once with no electricity on Wednesday, my main prep day.  But I've always done it.  

Not this year.  Thanksgiving 2015 shall go down in infamy as the year of mastitis.

I started feeling a little off on Wednesday around lunchtime.  This ain't my first rodeo, so I knew what was coming.  Called the doctor, had my usual antibiotics prescribed over the phone, and gave Karl instructions to pick them up on his way home from work.  By the time he got back at 3:00 I was curled up in bed in the fetal position, shivering through a crazy fever under three blankets.  And there I remained until dinnertime on Thursday.  

Grandma Jane rose to the occasion and followed my haphazardly-texted recipes to feed twelve people.  Someone presumably cared for my children, because I certainly didn't do it, and they were all still alive when my Tylenol and I came downstairs for Thanksgiving dinner.  

My fever symptoms were better on Friday, but by Saturday afternoon my breast was still in bad shape.  Three days of antibiotics should be better than that, so I called my doctor again and he sent me to the ER.  I spent all afternoon and evening at the hospital -- my first ER visit of my entire life!  Not exactly the way I was hoping to spend my holiday weekend.  Karl and his parents covered the kids all day.  If you're going to get sick, it's nice to do it when you have family in town.

Anyway, the ER visit led to new antibiotics that were much more effective but not breastfeeding-friendly.  When the doctor told me I'd have to dump milk (he tells me this after he'd started the IV; don't get me started) I had a minor meltdown.  Heidi hasn't been that into nursing anyway, but I was hoping we could hold on through the one-year mark.  I knew ten days off the breast would basically mean the end of it.  I hadn't emotionally prepared for that.  I know a lot of women dislike nursing and do it with a sense of joyless obligation, but that's just not how I feel about it.  I like nursing the kids and am grateful that it comes fairly easily for me and my babies.  

Not to mention that being somewhat indifferent to nursing isn't the same as being abruptly weaned at ten months.  Heidi's an awesome -- AWESOME -- eater of table foods so I wasn't too worried about nutrition.  But I still thought she would balk at having either me or Karl put her to bed without milk.  And she. . . didn't care at all.  Karl handled bedtimes and naptimes for the three days he was off, which roughly quintupled the number of times he had put Heidi to bed in her entire life.  She went down without any fuss.  And then she didn't seem bothered at all when I took over again on Tuesday.  What an awesome baby.  

It was a relief for sure.  That would have been an unmitigated disaster with Ingrid (Henry was at least used to the bottle).  But also sad.  I thought maybe I would resume nursing her today when I finished my antibiotics, but she is effectively and happily weaned.  It seems silly to start again when we've already passed this milestone.  A regrettable end to our nursing days, but I'm going to enjoy the fact that I still get bedtime cuddles without worrying that I'm the only one who can put her to bed.