I frowned. “Teethin’ sucks.”
“I just hate that she’s hurting, and we can’t do much about it,” Dominic said and leaned down to kiss Georgie’s head.
Bronagh smiled at him then at me, she said, “You should have seen ‘im. He was jumpin’ around and pretendin’ to get scared every time she screeched, which made ‘er laugh. He was even singin’ in an attempt to distract ‘er from ‘er pain. It was so cute.”
I aww’d out loud, and Dominic glared at me then at Bronagh.
“I’m ripped with manliness,” he said to her, puffing out his chest. “Don’t call me cute.”
Stupid thing to say.
“But you’re me cutie mac cutie cute pie,” my sister crooned.
I laughed while Dominic growled.
I looked down at my niece when she suddenly started crying.
“Georgie, baby, please don’t do this again.” Bronagh sighed.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“The last two weeks, she will latch on then unlatch and make sounds like she is heavin’. I’ve had to kind of sway her into feedin’ lately, but it’s like she is fightin’ me on it. I can’t remember the last time she just drank ‘er fill and didn’t fuss.”
Uh-oh.
“It’s buggin’ me,” Bronagh continued. “She’s missed more than a whole feed nearly every day. When she does nurse, it doesn’t last long, and it’s messin’ with me supply. I had to pump extra last night, but I didn’t get much in the end.”
I bit my lip, and my sister saw it.
“What?” she asked.
I shook my head in response.
“Branna,” she pressed.
“I could be wrong,” I said hesitantly. “She’s probably coming down with somethin’, or it could be ‘er teethin’, but it sounds like she is... self-weanin’.”
“No.” My sister laughed. “She’s only four months old.”
I tilted my head. “So?”
“So babies don’t self-wean until they’re a lot older.”
I furrowed my brows. “What eejit told you that? Babies can self-wean at any time; it’s just more common when they’re older. All babies are different, and they don’t follow a schedule. Besides, if your supply is low, she’s probably gettin’ annoyed with sucklin’ and not gettin’ much milk.”
My sister stared at me then gasped. “Oh, my God. Branna.”
I reached out and placed my hands on her arm at the same time Dominic placed his hands on her shoulders.
“She might not be weanin’; it might just be her teeth comin’ through that’s knockin’ ‘er off ‘er routine, but just in case it is happenin’, take a deep breath because this is totally normal. While it’s not what you expected, this happens to many mammies. You can try ‘er on a bottle and see how she takes it if you like?”
“I don’t have any powdered milk; I’ve only ever breastfed—”
“I’ll go to the store and get a box of the formula,” Dominic cut Bronagh off. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
I told Dominic which brand to get then he took off jogging out of the bedroom. Almost instantly, my sister burst into tears as she stared down at her daughter, who was still fussing and pushing away from her breast. Eventually, Georgie abandoned feeding and just leaned against Bronagh and began to chew on her fingers, not interested in Bronagh’s breast at all.
“I’m a horrible mother,” Bronagh cried, her eyes filled with despair. “I can’t even feed me own baby!”
“Hey, hey,” I said softly and leaned over, hugging my sister. “This isn’t you. This is all Georgie. She’s eatin’ some solid food for you now, and that can put her off wantin’ milk, too. We always knew she was goin’ to be an independent little madam, right?”
“Yeah, but when she was older.” My sister sniffled. “Not now.”
I frowned as she continued.
“I know I complain about nursin’, but I don’t mean it. I just get so tired sometimes.”
“Bronagh,” I said softly. “Every breastfeedin’ mother goes through this at some point.”
“I know,” she cried. “I just didn’t want it to be now.”
I said nothing more; I simply comforted my sister. Nothing I said or did would make her feel better. She would have to come to terms with it on her own, and she would, in time. An hour after we realised why Georgie was acting up, she drank half of her formula bottle that Dominic bought in the supermarket and ate more than half a small bowl of pureed carrots. She loved her solid food, and having a full tummy brightened her up. She began talking in her baby language.
Loudly.
Bronagh said it was the first time in two weeks that she drank her fill of milk, had solid food on top of it, and didn’t fight her on it, nor did she heave like she did when she breastfed. I saw it in my sister’s eyes the moment she fully realised that Georgie was, quite possibly, self-weaning, and I could see that it cut her in two.
“She’s you all over,” I said to Bronagh to take her mind off it. “A big mouth.”