As we are quickly approaching my son's first birthday, I am overwhelmed with a variety of different emotions. I am excited for this important milestone in his life, incredibly grateful for the past year, which was hands down the best of my entire life and absolutely amazed at how fast this time has passed by. I literally blinked and my tiny infant boy is now a running, climbing monkey man. In addition, I can feel the familiar, nagging pangs of anxiety tugging softly at my heart. The day of weaning is upon us and I am simultaneously ready, mourning and scared to death.
I guess I should start by stating the obvious, because it has been
said to me so many times over the past month. Yes, I am aware that I
don't have to wean him yet. No one is forcing me or holding a
gun to my head. As much as I feel sad to put the experience of
nursing my son behind me, I do feel like the time has come. At least
for feedings during the day. I may still try to hold on to night
nursing for a little bit longer...
Thus far, preparing to wean has been bittersweet. A few weeks ago I
cut down to one pumping session per day at work and while the extra
money has been nice, timely blog posts have suffered. This week will
be my last lugging a huge breast pump with me to work. Today is the
last day that I am guaranteed a break in my workday so it is also the
last that I will enjoy with a warm lunch eaten with a fork and knife.
From now on it is back to protein shakes and meal replacement bars
between sessions.
Speaking of food, one of the perks of nursing that I will miss the
most, besides my son's sweet face when he realizes that we are
cuddling up for a meal, will be getting to eat the extra guilt free
calories myself. That, I am sure I will shed a tear over the next
time I am confronted with a box of doughnuts.
Over the past few weeks, my thoughts have frequently drifted back to
the early days of our breastfeeding adventure. The uncertainty,
stress and terror of depending completely on your body to perform a
totally new function that it has never attempted before. One that
you are not really certain is actually even working properly, to
provide all of the sustenance necessary to allow the very survival your
brand new baby. People think that because it is natural that
means it must be easy. Well let me dispel this myth. Even
for someone who had a relatively smooth transition from regular boob
to working boob, that shit is far from easy.
I will always remember the first time that I ever fed Archer, sitting
in our hospital bed immediately after I had returned from the operating recovery
room. I was so nervous and exhausted. I braced for a struggle, but
to my delight, he latched on immediately and I remember thinking,
“finally! Something with my body has worked properly for once.”
I remember the feeling of pride and comfort that it gave me to nurse
him; how connected I felt to this little person. It felt magical in
those first precious moments.
Unfortunately, real life soon followed and the first days and weeks
of nursing felt slightly less magical. A few things stick out the
most in my memory of those early days. The most prominent being the
sheer physical pain of having these two huge boulders in my bra for
the first time in my life. You wish for them for years and years and
then you get them and bam, be careful what you wish for. In the
early days it hurts to even look at your boobs, let alone attach a
small person to them. And that person wants to be attached
constantly early on. Constantly. Non-stop. And when you think they
are done, they are back again. It is never ending in the beginning.
Cluster feedings... Shoot me. Your nipples feel like they are going
to either fold inside out or fall clean off and all this baby wants
to do it mess with them. First the right, then the left. Then the
right again. Okay, now the left. It is maddening. I would dread
evenings because that is when Archer would cluster feed. I could
feel that dread in the pit of my stomach as the sun fell low into the
sky. He was coming for me... I just knew it.
I believe that for those first four weeks, I had a child on my boob
more often than not. Everyone in my family has seen my breasts so
often that they are just bored with them now and I am surprised by
how little I care. My poor mother has seen my boobs more than she
has seen her own at this point. When you are cluster feeding for
most of the day, it is just easier to leave them out.
I tried using nursing covers but we never did get the hang of those.
He thought it was fun to whip them around which really just creates
more of a scene. Now instead of just seeing my boob you are also
getting a rhythmic gymnastics show with it. Sometimes if he is in
just the right mood, Archer will allow a light, gauzy blanket over us.
When we can, I do try to nurse in private. We now know every
fitting room and private parking spot in town. I've fed archer in
restaurant booths, bathrooms, in the car and sitting on the beds of
many a family member and friend.
Early on you are so tired and overwhelmed with constantly feeding a
newborn on demand that you don't even realize when you forget to put
your boob away. Now I do it out of habit. Just over the Fourth of
July weekend, I left a bedroom after nursing with my entire right
side of my bra out, tank top pulled under the cup just waving in the
breeze. I had made two plates before I finally noticed. I would
like to say that I was mortified but honestly, I barely blinked. Who
hasn't seen them at this point? At least my bra was on... My
standards for modesty have suffered greatly over this past year.
The majority of my clothes are equipped with a small clip on either
side, to allow easy boob access. While they are a fabulous
invention, I will be glad to hang them up for the last time. I look
forward to wearing clothes because they look cute again rather than
because I can get to my breasts easily in them.
For the first few weeks, Archer used to fight with his hands the
entire time that he ate. I must have repeated the phrase “move
your hand” about a thousand times that first month. Holding him
with my right arm, I would use my left arm to grab the offending hand
and move it out of the way, after which he would simply place his
other hand over my boob, trying to eat through it. I would drop the
first hand to move the second only for him to bring his now freed arm
back up to get in his way and so on and so forth. It was adorably
frustrating. Unless it was three o'clock in the morning. Then it
was just frustrating.
I remember over the first few weeks after getting home from the
hospital using an app on my phone to record the side that I used, the
amount of time that Archer nursed and how many diapers he had that
day, specifying if they were poop, pee or both. Looking back, if I
had it to do over, I would skip the app. As if just getting a baby
to latch on and stay isn't hard enough! Now fumble with your phone
while doing it.
When he was tiny he would gaze lovingly up at me while he ate. Now
he likes to watch television. Commercials to be exact and if he
hears one of his favorites he will stop eating to turn and watch, so
I now position myself to give him a view of the boob tube. The other
day while nursing, I raised a hand to my face to fix my hair and my
little nursling pushed it out of his way. I had apparently blocked
his view. If he is sleepy he performs acrobatics while eating. I am
amazed at how far a nipple can stretch when given no other option.
I've been bit countless times, which is as fun as it sounds. Those
little teeth are so cute until they are chomping down on you.
I remember my first time feeding Archer in public. We were at an
outdoor concert and I walked to my car for some semi privacy. I was
a nervous wreck. Was anyone going to see and come over to reprimand
me? I fed my baby boy in the front seat of our car while my husband
perched outside, just waiting for someone to look sideways.
I will remember putting cabbage in my bra to help with engorgement,
getting out of the shower while leaking like a faucet myself, walking
around with one boob comically bigger than the other and my ongoing
prayers that someday they will even back out. I will remember the
frustrating feedings when he just wouldn't latch, or would latch but
let go as soon as he started getting milk. I will remember trying
every different type of hold that I had heard of and Googling over
and over again, when does breastfeeding get easier?
I will remember when it did finally start to get easy and how sweet
it feels to leave a noisy, crowded room to share a private moment
with my son. I love that there is this beautiful thing that only he
and I share. I will forever remember nursing my son to sleep at
night, cuddled up like a cocoon around him. I will always remember
standing in public and feeling the cold fingertips of terror run down
my spine as I feel my milk come in. Sitting in public, cheerfully
minding my own business only to look down and realize that I have two
huge wet spots on the front of my shirt.
I will never forget when Archer was very small and the milk would
startle him and he would shoot off of my boob, milk spraying
everywhere like a sprinkler. I will remember my poor husband's face
the first time that he ever saw this spectacle. A delicate mix of
laughter, fear and regret.
I remember when Archer couldn't find a boob that was right in front
of him with both hands. Now he knows where to find them and he isn't
shy about it. I have been asked by other women after they have spent
time holding my son if he nurses. They always say that they could
tell because he is pretty forward with boobs in general. I'm not
sure if that is the nursing, or the Italian in him to be honest.
Tonight will be the last night that I sneak downstairs after my son
falls asleep to freeze my milk from the day. It will be the last
time that I look into my freezer and admire my stash, every nursing
mom's secret obsession.
I will be sad to see this journey end. It has been one of the most
rewarding acts of my life and I feel grateful that my body finally
cooperated with something. I am nervous for the next chapter in our
journey, but feel confident that if we can sort out nursing in a tiny
bathroom stall in a dress without snaps, clips or flaps, then we can
get through anything together. Even weaning.
