When Maple and Eider were little, and I was still in the long stretch of my early mothering years during which I nursed, and nursed, and nursed, almost uninterrupted for six and a half years, it was hard to even imagine life after breastfeeding. I couldn’t even think about it without tearing up- hello hormones- and I was certainly never very interested in weaning either of them, except perhaps at night, which I somehow managed to do with great difficulty around 22 and 30 months respectively. So well boundaried, meg.
Fast forward seven years post nursing those two and the advent of the arrival of another nursling and I was honestly a little bit indifferent about nursing. Maybe looking forward to it in some ways but in no way under any illusion that my bond with our little was dependent upon our nursing relationship. I think what happened is that in the seven years that followed the 6+ that we nursed for I woke up to the reality of the complexity and nuance of our relationships. As much as at times I may have felt like not much more than a pair of boobs and a steady source of liquid snacks, I was always so much more to both of them and that exists both in relationship to, and completely independent from, the fact of having breastfeed them.
My nursing relationship with Wilfred is both similar and unique to what it was for his big sibs. First of all, I do not use it as a way to put him to sleep. I maybe did for a brief moment earlier on when a) I didn’t know any different, and b) he was too wee to stay awake for longer than a feeding. Maple, and Eider as well, if perhaps to a lesser degree, I had no clue how to put to sleep without nursing. In fact, I remember when Eider finally gave up naps at 3.5, it was because one day we were lying down, and he simply popped up from my breast and said: “Mama, there is no more milky.” and then got up and left the room.
Not so much like that with Wilfred. I don’t really even have a memory of the last time he fell asleep at my breast. He certainly has before, but usually it means that he is overtired and I have kept him up longer than I should have. Even when he nurses in the night- which, yes, he is still doing once, or more commonly, twice a night- when he is finished he’ll pop off and make a big backbend in an effort to hurl himself backward into his crib. Back to bed please now mom. It’s a little bittersweet if I am being honest. But I am happy for his sleep independence. I think it will serve him well. I think it already does. He is certainly my most well rested child by far.
In the early days of nursing Wilfred, those first months in which it can feel like just about all you are ever doing, I would catch myself getting completely lost in my phone. I didn’t have an Iphone when the big kids were nurslings and honestly I cannot really recall what I did when they were at my breast. Maybe I read? I mean, what were my other options? No podcasts to listen to, I didn’t know what texting was, certainly no Marco Polo… I think probably I did then what I had to make a mindful and conscious choice around doing this go round. I simply hold my baby. And breath. I focus on my presence with him. Sometimes rubbing his head or his hands or his cheek. But I had to choose it, you know? I think maybe I even read something about babies knowing if you are present with them or not when they are nursing and from that moment on I was like: that’s it. THIS is it.
I’m not sure what the projected duration is for our breastfeeding relationship. Before he was born, I think I said something along the lines of not being able to see myself going for more than 2 years with this one. Despite what I know to be true about myself as evidenced per my older two. But now, I feel open and easy about the whole thing. We can nurse as we like and as serves us both for however long.
Which perhaps is a fine place to mention, that even though these relationships have been mostly easy for me, they have never been simple, and certainly not without difficulty. At times, quite a lot. Maple was unrelenting, we were constantly nursing. So par for the course for her personality. Eider was my efficient baby. Draining me entirely at each feeding. So much so, that I would build up such a supply that I ended up with mastitis on more than one occasion. Mastitis is horrible. HORRIBLE. And with Wilfred, I have had numerous clogged ducts, some that have taken more than a day to resolve. They are uncomfortable and hot and anxiety producing for me.
It is hard to breastfeed. But like many things that come with some great gain, it is not without some requisite pain or complexity, thrusting, again, the female body forward as a vessel in service of the growth and nourishment and safety of another. It is beautiful and it is wrought and I feel lucky that I am able to participate in the relationship, for the most part, per my own choice. From fuel into fat into milk into fuel again, and then body and marrow and bone and brain. The continuum of my body and mind and heart into those of my children. It is super sacred and incredibly mundane and I hope I can continue to practice staying awake for all of it.