You know what’s been on my mind all day? My boobs. I’m sorry if that’s a little too graphic for you, but that’s what this blog is about, or rather it’s about breastfeeding. The subject has been in my thoughts a lot lately, and I’m not sure why, but I tend to believe it’s the little monkey clawing at my breasts as I type this that brings it most to my mind.
I’m thinking about weaning my youngest child, and therefore the topic of breastfeeding is ranking higher on my agenda.
It might even sound like I’m a bit frustrated, and rightfully so. After 18 months of anything you might begin to reach a point where enough is enough. The beauty of the experience is starting to fade, and the sacrifice doesn’t bring thoughts of contentment, just moments of aggravated exhales.
The first year you’re fine. It’s not any less tiresome or anything. In fact, it’s worse that first year. It’s almost constant, night and day. Sore nipples, leaks that soak your bra, shirt, and sheets. There’s pitstops throughout the day if you’re out of the home, and you become pretty familiar with private places interspersed throughout your favorite stores where you may nurse in private to avoid the stares of curious and sometimes rude strangers.
But you somehow don’t mind. You deal with it and for the most part you enjoy every second of the experience. Any frustrations you encounter you can easily ignore because you’re doing what you decided was best for you and your baby. You know that your life will be disrupted by breastfeeding, so you just go right along with it.
You accept the fact that cute bras, underwire, and certain tops and dresses will not be a part of your wardrobe during this magical time. You get past the fashion faux pas, and you ignore any restrictions on your day much as you do with any other aspect of raising a baby. It just becomes an integral part of your personal experience with motherhood. It becomes a small sacrifice you don’t really mind, like missing sleep or being unable to keep the house really and truly clean. The first year anyway.
As your baby starts growing into a toddler it becomes a bit more challenging. It’s such a serene, beautiful experience when they are small. You hold this tiny bundle to your breast and give of yourself. You nourish this tiny baby all by yourself, and it’s wondrous.
As they begin to eat table food, and walk, and talk, it loses all serenity. When they treat your bosom like a buffet in between goldfish crackers and their favorite cartoon it just doesn’t seem magical anymore. It seems annoying.
So why do it you might ask. I guess because for some reason it is wonderful. How something can have so many sides to it is beyond me. I’m unsure how it can be the most aggravating yet most rewarding experience ever, but it is! It’s such a difficult, challenging experience on one hand. Then on the other it’s the easiest thing there is!
I think of my first child. She was an every two hour nurser for the first nine months of life. I worked full-time, and I’ll be honest when I say I took full advantage of our breastfeeding. She slept in the bed beside me and I slept lightly while she ate. No bottles to fix. No getting up all night. It was brilliant.
This doesn’t mean I’m lazy. I think often times there’s a misconception that breastfeeding is for the lazy mom, and honestly that pisses me off. I’m quite certain that the majority of people who hold this opinion have never sacrificed their breasts to the life of another tiny human. Ever. I suppose only till you’ve had cracked nipples, been bit by tiny, sharp teeth, or had your child pull your breast out unexpectedly in public can you know the downfalls of the decision to breastfeed your baby. It’s certainly not for the faint of heart. And it’s certainly not for the lazy. It’s actually a lot of work!
You get to a point I suppose, one where I’m at now, where you’re not providing a substantial amount of nutrition, and while the benefits of breastfeeding on immunity and wellness are still present, you just don’t feel like they’re exactly physically dependent on it anymore. What they do have, though, is the emotional connection. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit the emotional connection is there for me too. I find myself torn, a multitude of emotions and thoughts over what’s best for us both versus what we desire.
It becomes so much more than food. When they’re bored they want to nurse. When they’re scared, hurt, or most importantly sleepy, they want to nurse. They become dependent on that connection, and if they’re like my child they crave a fix like a heroin addict. My kid gets all shaky and wild-eyed when I try to push her away from my chest.
Today when she bit and pinched my leg after I told her “not now,” I knew we might have a problem.
Many people look at my decision to breastfeed after the first year with a raised eyebrow. They can’t seem to understand why I’d even want to. I could repeat the recommendation of the World Health Organization to breastfeed until age two, but it wouldn’t matter. I’d still get the weird looks or unthought through remarks. Those things don’t make my decision, but they are something I deal with.
I suppose until you’ve rocked an angel baby to sleep on your breast, lulled to dreamland by your mother’s milk, then you’re unable to know why I do what I do. If you haven’t experienced this connection, it doesn’t mean I am more or you are less. It simply means I decided what was best for me and you decided what was best for you. I don’t question your three year old still being dependent on a pacifier (something my children never had an affection for), so I just ask you try to understand why we do what we do. Actually, on second thought, you don’t have to understand my decision. I only ask that you respect it.
The thing is I guess I’ll be weaning her soon. I’m ready I suppose. The frustrations are becoming more frequent to me. I know it will be hard on her, but I also know it will be hard on me.
I know I’ll miss our special time together, in the morning, at bedtime, when we share our special connection rocking together. I always gaze down at her and am overcome with deep affection, and I suppose our exit of the breastfeeding will not alter that. I know this from weaning my first child.
But still, I know it will be sad for us both, almost like a break-up. We know we can’t carry on much longer, but we have kept at it anyway because we cherish the good times. It may sound silly to you, but think of us over the next few weeks when I finally decide our time has come. It will not be easy, I’m not looking forward to it, and I’m glad she doesn’t know what lies ahead.
I know that once we’re done, we’re done, and I realize that I will miss it so much. That connection is so precious, and years down the road I’ll think of it fondly, and in essence forget every little nuisance that bothers me right now. If she ends up being my last child it will especially be bittersweet.
But it will be nice to have my body back again.