Bittersweet

This post originally ran on November 8, 2010 on Waking Up Singing. Thank you to Megan for sharing this beautiful story with us.

Every single day for the past 6 years and 3 months, I have had the great privelege of nurturing a life with my body, either through pregnancy or breastfeeding or both at the same time. Every day. For more than 6 years. Until now. Maybe.

I’ve always joked that I don’t know how to wean without getting pregnant again – Iain weaned at 16 months when I was 3 months pregnant with Ruby, and Ruby weaned at 18 months when I was 3 months pregnant with Josie. Both times it happened very naturally, with just a little bit of distracting from me – but in general they both just lost interest, and I assumed it had a lot to do with my milk supply because of the pregnancies.

So I knew it would be a different story with baby #3, because clearly I am NOT getting pregnant again. Throw into the mix some major life changes (moving!), and not long ago I had a 16-month-old who was nursing every 2 hours. AROUND THE CLOCK. After we were more or less settled into the new house I night-weaned her, and everyone was a little happier. And over the past 3 months, I’ve slowly been working to cut down on our “deedees”. I placed limits on where (only on the couch), later on when (only after wakings), all the while wondering deep down if it was the right thing to do. I have always followed the “don’t offer, don’t refuse” policy before, but this time I was outright refusing some of her requests to nurse. She seemed to understand though, and I took comfort in knowing that she is old enough to talk about it with me. In the past 2 weeks we’ve started to cut out the after-nap nursing, and I’ve been able to find a tasty snack to keep her happy instead (the first two days it was cookies, but we won’t go into that).

Fast forward to two days ago. I have not been feeling well lately, and have been working a LOT so I am very low on sleep. Because of my little early bird, I have not slept past 6 a.m. in MONTHS. So yesterday John insisted that I sleep in, and he would get up with Josie. Yes, there was some crying (from her, not me – I snored away until 9 a.m.!), but then there was some snuggling with Daddy and the eating of 3 bowls of cereal. Everyone survived.

This morning I went in to get her at 5 (damn you, Daylight Savings Time!) and she said her usual, “OK, Mommy. Hi, Mommy.” But then, instead of patting my chest and saying “More deedees please” over and over again on our way downstairs, she asked for a “snack”.

Slightly shocked, I skipped our usual stumble to the couch and headed straight for the kitchen, where she proceeded to happily sit and eat 2 bowls of cereal. And now here she is, snuggled contentedly into my lap, not asking to nurse, while I write about our apparent weaned status. All this before 6 a.m. Weird.

Deep, deep down, I am sad. This time is gone forever – literally, the end of an era. This little bit of freedom from my own body is also a sign of other freedoms to come – freedoms that sound so good to me now, but that I know I will mourn profoundly in the future. Yes, we seemed to have passed the point where the children physically take of my body in some way, but we are still so very connected in the physical sense. Holding, carrying, snuggling, hugging, rocking, dancing, pulling, lifting… these are physical days, in the most primal way.

Some day, I will clean the bathroom without having a baby strapped on me. Some day, I will sit down to drink my coffee without balancing one, maybe two kids on my knees. Some day, I will cook dinner and listen to music without shrieking demands for repeated dances to “Hammer” (If I Had a Hammer by Peter Paul and Mary). Some day, I will sit on the floor to fold laundry without two kids in my lap and another draped across my shoulders.

And while this body will be floating footloose and fancy free through the house, this mind will be wishing for the days of being weighed down. I will be remembering that even though I had to clean the bathroom with a baby strapped in the sling, she would wriggle her little arms inside the sling and wrap them around my waist in the most heartbreakingly snuggly way, her head resting on my chest. I will remember that even though I longed to drink my coffee and read my magazine in silence, that I couldn’t ever help but giggle at the babbles and drawings and squeaky singing of those knee-balanced children. I will remember that I used to be surrounded by an adoring crowd while I cooked dinner, a crowd that I’m sure will soon turn their adoration toward the TV and computer games and Legos instead. I will remember that even though I didn’t get much laundry folded on the floor, that in fact most of it ended back out of the basket and flung across the floor and pulled messily onto little heads… it was at those times that I was most often struck breathless with my children’s perfect beauty, staring at those faces close-up as they pulled clean socks onto their hands, taking in their hot breath as they leaned on my shoulders, drinking in the very essence of their miracles.

So Josie Jones, if this is it for us – well, then thanks. I couldn’t think of a better person to spend the last 19 1/2 months snuggled on the couch with. And if it’s not, well, then I’ll meet you back on the couch bright and early tomorrow morning.

The Traveling Boob

These boobs have nursed in 5 states within the last 8 months. Not bad. With my oldest son, I only managed to nurse him in Illinois, and barely even did that. It was a tough road with Ben – many different obstacles and not enough support. So, in the end he was formula-fed, although I was able to pump for about 5 months. This new kid though, well, I prepared myself well for this adventure. I took another breastfeeding course, hired a postpartum doula who is also a La Leche League leader, and utilized my lactation consultants in the hospital. And, here we are 8 and a half months later and we have nursed in airports, on planes, in rest areas, at 3 different zoos, on the side of the road, in the northwoods, overlooking the Ohio river, and watching the sunset on the soft white sands of the Gulf of Mexico.

Some of the great things about nursing and traveling are:

1)     You do not need to worry about going through security at the airport. You don’t have to put the bottles with formula in a ziplock bag, remember to pull it out of your diaper bag to show to the TSA agents. You just have your boobs.

2)      You don’t have to worry if the formula will stay cold in the cold in the cooler. Your body is your best temperature control.

3)     You don’t have to mess with bottles and worry about whether you packed enough. Your boobs are like a tap at the bar – the milk never seems to stop flowing when your baby needs another round.

However, my most favorite thing about traveling and nursing is the peacefulness of it. There isn’t a rush to mix a bottle to help calm a screaming baby. You just latch him on and let him suckle away. We have spent some beautiful moments just enjoying the scenery and taking it in while he nurses. And, when he’s done, there’s no worry about having to clean a bottle, you just button up and you are back on the road – until the next diaper change, of course.

Jennifer is a stay-at-home mom to two crazy boys. She dabbles in being a postpartum doula, an activist in the developmental disabilities community, and working as a short-order cook for her 3 year-old. She also blogs about her boys’ lives here (http://10littletoes.wordpress.com/) when her eye isn’t twitching from lack of sleep.

You know you’re a breastfeeding mom when…

Hi! Welcome to the Breastfeed, Chicago! blog! I am going to assume that if you are here, it is because you are someone who breastfeeds your child or is interested in breastfeeding.  Who knows, maybe you just typed “breasts AND Chicago” into Google and ended up here. In any case, this is a fantastic blog to support breastfeeding in our city.

If you are like me, you are very passionate about breastfeeding and are often disillusioned by today’s media and society that seem to side with the “stay at home or give your kid a bottle” mentality.  (Let me just let out a little “ugh!!!” for you all.)  I know there will be many posts on this blog regarding all the wonderful aspects of breastfeeding, why it is best for babies, and why you should do it unabashedly whenever and wherever you please.  Today, however, I am going to step back from the seriousness of breastfeeding and visit the lighter side.  Breastfeeding is awesome, in every way, shape, and form.  Breast milk IS best.  But let’s face it…sometimes you just need to have a sense of humor.  So I present to you a small list I have complied based on my personal experiences entitled,

You know you are a breastfeeding mom when…

Your husband thinks it’s funny to teach your two-year old to “moo” at you.

You have completely forgotten what underwire is.  That’s like how the cable tv gets into the house, right?

You go to grab a coaster for a guest and realize it’s a nursing pad.

Your 2 year old knows that the baby eats milk…and it comes from the “boo-boos.”  And, she takes the opportunity to show you (and anyone else who would like to see) her boo-boos…and her baby brother’s.

While walking past the breast pumps at Target your daughter starts pointing and excitedly yells out, “That’s the Mama’s!!!”

The UPS man comes to the door and you are this close to opening it, when you realize your shirt is still up around your chest. Oops.

You have serious concerns about the amount of breastmilk that has been inadvertently squirted into your child’s eye.  So much so that “breast milk in eye” may or may not show up on your past Google searches. (Raise your hand if you knew it could help cure an eye infection!)

You’d rather lose your wedding ring than spill a bottle of pumped milk.  Insurance covers the ring…that liquid gold is gone forever. (I wince even thinking of this…)

Your daughter thinks her little play sliced tomato is a nursing pad…and attempts to stick it down your shirt for you every chance she gets.

You are often referred to as “the milk truck.” As in, “Don’t cry baby, here comes the milk truck!”

Pumping 4 oz. of milk in one sitting just might be cause for a victory dance…

You know that fenugreek has nothing to do with frat parties and that when people are talking about the “dom” it’s not a nice bottle of champagne you drink once a year on New Years or your anniversary.

You get to field questions about your activities, like when my 5-year old niece (after thinking long and hard about what she was witnessing) asked, “Why is he sucking on your BOOB!???”

Hearing a sob story about the woman with the overage problem who pumped 20-some oz. in one sitting doesn’t make you feel sorry for her. In fact, it kind of makes you want to punch her. Or just rob her house of her freezer stash.

You have to bring a change of clothes with you everywhere…not because there is a chance your newborn will poop or spit up on you, but because of this…

Your biggest accomplishment in the last three months is not a big work project, but that you have successfully figured out how to nurse your baby, one handed, while making dinner, talking on the phone, and entertaining your other child.  Rock star!

When people see your son and say, “BIG Boy!!” you get all happy and smiley because it’s all YOU.  Go you! Go your boobs!

You are forced to answer questions like, “How long are you planning on nursing that child?” with totally clever responses such as, “well, I suppose it might be a little awkward when he goes off to college.”

What about you?  What are some funny stories that you could add to this list? I’d love to hear them!

Emily (last name withheld for privacy reasons) is a teacher in the Chicagoland area. She has a two year old daughter who was breastfed until she self-weaned at 13 months and a 3 month old son who will breastfeed until he decides he is ready to stop…or goes to college, whichever comes first.  You can read more about her life on her blog “justem” (link = http://justem.typepad.com), which is a private blog, but she’ll give you the password if you ask nicely!