You have to cut that out

Yesterday, we went in for our "nurse talk" where a patient history is taken and the nurse talks to you for about an hour about the rules. Nurse Kathy was nice about Little Bird tagging along with us. She wasn't so nice when she chuckled each time she said the word, "mature." Apparently referring to my age was the funniest thing she had done in a long time.

Little Bird climbed up in my lap near the end of our talking to and asked to nurse. Nurse Kathy asked how long he had nursed, and Kevin said that it wasn't a past tense thing. I said he still does, and she raised one eyebrow at me.

She said, "When are you going to cut that out?"

"When he's ready."

Then she put her professionally medical foot down and told me that I had to stop nursing my child. The doctor would tell me, and I needed to go ahead and do it now.

I just smiled.

The thing is, I had been sitting there thinking to myself that this could be easy. Just stay here at this OB practice and have a baby the way most of America has a baby. It's what I did last time, and Bird turned out just fine. Sure, some of the doctors and nurses annoy me, and it's complete overkill, but it would be the path of least resistance and familiarity.

Then I was shaken back into reality. That nurse, with her eyebrow raised in disapproval, was a good reminder of why I'm breaking up with my doctor. Maybe not at my next appointment, but soon.

After all, I'm a "mature" mother. I'm making informed parenting and birthing decisions. I'm done having doctors roll their eyes at me while I'm in labor. I'm done having nurses raise their eyebrows at me.

It's time for a change.