Nursing was one of the most difficult challenges I faced when E was born; we certainly didn't take to it easily. It was a lot of work and I'm so thankful that I had friends who helped me through it all-- people who were willing to help me with position and his latching, who answered the questions I had that seemed trivial (what is a tongue tie? Does it look like he has hit?) and most importantly, who encouraged me. Thankfully, one friend confided that she didn't feel comfortable with nursing her newborn for weeks-- not just the one week deadline they tell you before you leave the hospital. 8 weeks, she told me-- 8 weeks before she felt confident. That took so much pressure off and so when at week 3, I broke down, I knew it was okay and that I could keep working on it. At 6 weeks, when I pretty much thought we were okay, but my nipples still sometimes were raw and sore, I knew we would make it. At 9 weeks, when we got thrush-- the most painful two days of my entire life. I could keep going and know that this was the best for my child. I could look down at him and see his eyes closed as he nursed, full and content, two hands gently cupping what nourished him and feel full and content myself.
Because we were nursing, I felt more comfortable with traveling. When E was just over two months old, we drove to see J's family in Kansas, to be there when his grandmother passed away. I remember sitting in the backseat of our Subaru, pulling my shirt to the side and leaning over the carseat to nurse E so we wouldn't have to stop every two hours. I remember nursing him on the beach, underneath an umbrella. We nursed at Barnes and Noble, the library, in restaurants. We nursed in dressing rooms, at both the Kite Festival and the Strawberry Festival, at parks. He was a quick nurser, but liked to snack. It was never a 20 or 30 minute session for E; he would nurse for just five or ten minutes and was then onto other things. He was six months old when I went back to work and I pumped twice a day. He always had enough milk for a morning bottle, but was eating solids for lunch by then, and would sometimes take a small bottle in the afternoons. Over winter break, when he was 10 months old, I stopped pumping at work and he just had water and solids during the day.
As he neared his first birthday, I contemplated weaning him. It was time, I thought. Most moms wean at a year, right? He was a great eater, I thought. He would always choose fresh fruits and vegetables over anything else. He would sleep through the night, I thought, if he didn't wake up to nurse. I would sleep through the night. But his first birthday came and went and we didn't wean. I was working full time, and those cuddles at night were okay with me. He was a great eater, but I knew he was still getting important nourishment from mama's milk. And I'm sure a lot of moms weaned by one, but not all of them. It's certainly more common in other parts of the world for babies to nurse for several years, until age 4 or 5 even. I could wean him over the summer, I thought, when we had more time together and it wouldn't be so traumatic.
But that didn't happen either. If anything, being together everyday made it more challenging to wean. If he was sad or hurt, he asked for nursies. If he was tired, he wanted his nursies. If just needed to be close, he needed his nursies. So I thought when he was two, we would wean.
Guess what? We didn't wean at two. We started the process; a few weeks before his birthday, we talked about how he wouldn't be able to nurse at night anymore, that mama's milk goes away when the sun goes down. For months, he would wake up every night and ask to nurse and every night, we would offer to sing him a song or read him a book. We would offer him a cup of cow's milk or water and a snuggle, but no nursies. It took forever, but he finally stopped asking for nursies at night. That doesn't mean, though, that he started sleeping through the night. E has never been a great sleeper; he often cries out, even if doesn't wake up. He's restless, always kicking covers off of his legs and then trying to pull them back up. Some nights, he can't sleep if he has on socks or pajama pants. Other nights, he won't sleep unless he has them both on. So while he was still waking up most nights, he finally stopped asking for nursies this past summer and it was such a relief to me. We were even able to drop the morning nursing session and told him he could only have nursies at night, just before bed. This was probably the easiest transition for him. He only asked two or three mornings before accepting that we were no longer nursing when we woke up.
And so since August, we've just been nursing before bed. He would still slip his hand down my shirt, resting it on my breast as he fell asleep, for comfort I suppose, or habit. He has spent the night at Granna and Papa's, or with his cousin a few times and never fussed or asked for me. I set the date for the real end at his third birthday. I knew-- or was hoping, really-- that by then, he would be ready and it would go smoothly. I knew, and was hoping, that I would be ready then, too. Three just felt right to me.
But then there was our trip to Kansas, for Thanksgiving. Our whole routine was off; we were sleeping in a different bed; there were lots of different people and so may other things going on. A few evenings he nursed, but most of the time, he just wanted to play with his cousins. I never offered or asked him if he wanted to nurse, I just let him go about his business. Sometimes he would remember and I would remind him that he could nurse before bed, but he was often exhausted and fell asleep on my chest. Three evenings in a row he went without nursing. When we came home from Kansas and went to sleep in our own bed, he forgot, too and I just held him, his head resting in the crook of my elbow, brushed his blonde locks from his eyes and leaned in to breathe him in. An entire week went by and he didn't ask to nurse before bed and at that point, I knew we were done. I knew that I could just offer him something else to drink and he would be okay.
His evening drink of choice now is often pink milk, strawberry milk, and he hasn't even asked to nurse before bed in weeks. He sometimes jokes about it now, sitting on my lap and pretending to nurse. He'll tell me he's a baby and that he needs his nursies, but always with a glint in his eye and a twinkling smile on his face. He still caresses my breasts lovingly and if he sees me getting in the shower or changing my clothes, he might ask to smell the nursies (which he reports smell like ice cream), but he's done. He weaned himself, on his own, really, without me setting a date or forcing him. He did it because he was ready, not because I made,him. As a parent, I've always felt that I should follow my child's lead, that children listen to their instincts, often better than adults, and that I could trust E to know what he needed. Despite the criticisms from some family members and some friends, despite the curious looks or dismissals from people who have chosen a different path for their children, I trusted my own maternal instincts to listen to what my child needed. It was easy, really, and there have been no tears. He's growing up and this closure is just one of the many we'll face together in our journey. And now that we're done nursing, I can say even more that I am thankful to have had the courage to follow my heart, my maternal instinct and trust that E and I could figure this out together.
1 comment:
Kudos for sticking to your guns. So often people are swayed by what society forces on them, to the dtriment of their children!
Happpy 2011.
Shiny x
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