My days as a breastfeeding mother are over, and I wasn’t going to write about it, but I’ve had so many different thoughts rolling around in my head that I feel compelled to document the time I spent being an nursing mama. Sometimes I’ve got stories or anecdotes from my life that I choose not to share on our blog, simply because the topic is odd, too much information, or too private. Reading about breastfeeding might be too much all together for some; nevertheless, I want to remember this experience and I keep this record of our life for the sake of our family and you’re lucky enough to get to read it.
From the start, nursing Maggie was easy and my milk abundant. It was something that I learned most people had some form of opinion about. Older mothers would ask if I was breastfeeding and then whisper to me their memories of their own time nursing their own children, typically fondly remembering the bond formed. Occasionally, I’d hear stories about inverted nipples, cranky babies or no milk and frustration. More often than not, I’d field the question about how long was I going to nurse Maggie. I didn’t really have a plan and I have learned that making a plan, in terms of parenting, is sometime a joke. So I kept telling people that my goal was to nurse Maggie for one year at least. When I shared this information with my pediatrician, she laughed and said matter-of-factly that I’d be nursing longer than a year based on her observations and our conversations regarding nursing. Barry also told me, as we approached Maggie’s first birthday, and I’d make ‘I’m only nursing one year’ comments, that Maggie was no where near ready to be weaned. It was true, Maggie wasn’t ready, but I wondered if I was.
Although Maggie was a great nurser, she wasn’t interested in a bottle and I’d avoided even trying a pacifier to soothe her. That meant that when it was feeding time, it was also Maggie & Mama time. Fortunately me being home with Maggie made this much easier to do month after month. We became pros at quietly removing ourselves from social settings to cuddle up on a bed or find a comfy chair to have some ‘milky’ or ‘tank up.’ The more I thought about weaning, the more I realized that I really actually did enjoy nursing. It was one of the few times that I’d completely stop whatever else I was doing and sit and be with Maggie, attention undivided. She loved being held, rocked or spooned and I loved having her little body close to mine. Since nursing stopped me in my tracks, it seemed to also slow down our whole household. Barry would often come into Maggie’s room and sit on the stool or sprawl out on the floor and we’d let our conversation flow. At night I’d nurse her down to sleep and we’d sit on the couch either watching a netflix episode or again talking, relaxing, admiring Milk Face Miller, Maggie’s nickname that she aquired as a newborn when she’d be drunk on milk.
After listening to a podcast about breastfeeding beyond infancy I found myself feeling inspired and at peace with nursing Maggie beyond the goal of one year that I’d made for myself. I wasn’t ready and she wasn’t ready, that much was obvious. She’d never been put on a feeding schedule per say, so I wondered to myself why I suddenly felt like I needed to put perimeters on how long she’d be able to nurse. Perhaps it was those fleeting moments of wanting to go do something for longer than a few hours without worrying about her nutrition/crankiness. So I silently told myself that I’d go to 18 months and reevaluate.
What I hadn’t expected was that Maggie would fall in love with food and become less interested in nursing by about 14 months. Slowly our feeding time dwindled away and one night while I rocked her to sleep I realized with a start that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d nursed her. Shockingly, tears welled in my eyes as I came to the realization that I was no longer needed by Maggie in such a unique and obviously motherly way and it broke a bit of my heart. I roused her from her slumber and nursed her one last time, simply for the fact that I could imprint the moment in my mind.
Ever since that day Maggie has been weaned and it wasn’t because I’d wanted her to be. I’m fine with it and she appears to be too. Sometimes when I’m wearing her in the Ergo she’ll spontaneously kiss my chest and cheese-ball smile afterwards. She also likes to cop-a-feel as she falls asleep most nights, still finding comfort in that region of my body. I’ve got no qualms about it either. I’m thankful that my body was able to provide for Maggie for as long as it did and that we figured out what worked for us.
It seems with parenthood everything is constantly changing and evolving. I still find myself talking with my girlfreinds about breastfeeding, shocking the yet-to-be mothers and strengthening an allegiance with the already-mothers. There’s something to be said about the time I spent nursing Maggie that has a bittersweet tone to it. I’m still trying to get myself to stop completely and be with Maggie in a way that isn’t fleeting, providing moments of reflection and gratitude with her smiling, content face mixed in.
I suppose that’s why we still rock her to sleep every night, but we’re only doing that until she’s 2….I kid, I kid!
