Magnum Opus

Charlotte's Web and a freezer full of breastmilk

I packed up our basement freezer full of the four ounce Abbott milk storage bottles that came three to a pack. They had a small white lid with a stylized A on the top. I still find them randomly in my house - in between the rocking chair cushions, flying around in my work bag, in the console of my car. Ninety of them, all hand labeled with the date and time, containing about two to three ounces of breastmilk each, lined the freezer. So pleased I was with this stash I ordered a deep freezer, convinced it would be something I would maintain. 

“My magnum opus,” I thought to myself as I shut the door. Those are the words Charlotte said to Wilbur after producing her egg sack, and it always stuck with me. I didn’t know Latin at eight years old, but I did know it meant Big F-ing Deal. As far as E.B. White goes, Charlotte’s Web is not my favorite - I’m scared of spiders and farms aren’t my thing. Stuart Little holds my top spot featuring swanky Manhattan digs and a lovely miniature world full of repurposed household items like matchboxes for beds. This is very on brand with an enneagram four - escapism and idealism. Yet Charlotte made an impression, and that’s how I felt about this milk stash, breastfeeding, and perhaps the larger idea of being a mother. 

Magnum opus. A triumph. A great work. A redemption after struggling to breastfeed my first baby. Little did I know that stash would be wiped out in a matter of days. Assuming each bottle held on average two and a half ounces, one feeding was four ounces, I pumped and bottle-fed my son four times a day and nursed the other four to six times…my magnum opus ran out after about 14 days. But still. Those 90 bottles were my BFD. 

This got me thinking about Charlotte. When I was little I was sad she died alone at the deserted county fairgrounds. I like to rewrite endings so maybe she went to Club Med, just like Romeo and Juliet opened a Cirque du Soleil show in Vegas, and Phinneas became a stockbroker. 

Now I have a different perspective. After literally saving Wilbur’s butt from the latest farm-to-table barbecue joint, serving as the farm’s counselor and mediator, putting Templeton in his place, restoring humanity’s faith in miracles, AND birthing thousands of eggs, she was done. She wanted to die with dignity in the peace and quiet of the shuttered county fair. 

Seeing it now, to me, Charlotte represents the many facets of motherhood. It is my magnum opus. I am torn saying that - part of me feels like I’m no Beethoven and the other part feels like a sell out. I mean it is true for me in the sense of motherhood as my great work. Because it is great as in Merriam-Webster’s definition: remarkable in magnitude, degree, or effectiveness (although I wonder about my effectiveness…insert upside-down smiley face emoji), and it is work. All of the hours that went into just those 90 bottles - the prepping, the pumping, the cleaning of the parts, the labeling, the storing, the de-thawing, the bottle-making, the feeding, the cleaning, and doing it all again and again and again. That’s just breastfeeding. 

Thinking about this made me think about my struggle to understand the line between who I am as an individual and as a mother, and how to find meaning in it all. I spend a lot of time searching for meaning, as evidenced by this missive…I mean I’ve made a big leap to connect Charlotte’s Web with breastfeeding here. And while I love the seeking, it’s also tiring at times. So I’m going to find the dignity and embrace being a mother as my magnum opus…and look Charlotte up at Club Med while I’m at it. 

1. Favorite E.B. White book? Childhood book?

2. How would you rewrite famous endings?

3. Who else knows about the Abbott storage bottles? What else do you find in your house leftover from breastfeeding?

4. What’s your magnum opus?