When I found out I was pregnant with BabyA, a lot of questions started circling in my mind. Luckily for me, how I was going to feed her was not one of them.
I was raised in a family and community that breastfed. The only time I remember seeing a bottle as a child was when my parents did foster care. I distinctly remember my mom explaining to me that the foster babies needed bottles because their mommies weren't able to be there to nurse them. As the oldest of five siblings, I watched all of my younger siblings breastfeed, and I was frequently exposed to breastfeeding outside of my home because most of my friends' mothers also breastfed.
I never even considered having a conversation with the Husband about how our baby would be fed. I was going to nurse her, and that was that. I remember my sister in law (The Husband's younger sister) asking me if I was going to breastfeed and then telling me about how her mother breastfed The Husband secretly because it was the '70s and only poor people breastfed. She also told me about how, when she was struggling with embarrassment while nursing her oldest, my father in law told her that she needed to feed her baby no matter when or where. The Husband's aunt was the first relative to tell me "don't let anyone pressure you into weaning before you're ready." She told me that she had let people pressure her into weaning one of her sons earlier than she had planned, and she still regrets it (that son is now in high school).
So, you see, I had a lot of support. When I gave birth at 3:30 AM and there was not a lactation consultant in sight, my mom was on hand with her years of breastfeeding experience, helping me get BabyA latched for the first time. When my milk didn't come in until almost 6 days after BabyA was born (and I was freaking out), I had plenty of people to reassure me and tell me things like "my milk came in late with my first baby, too" and "it can take a while sometimes, but it will happen."
The Husband struggled some with my breastfeeding...something I did not expect. Since he'd bottle fed The Princess when she was a baby, it took him a while to find other ways to bond with BabyA. He also had a hard time with me nursing in public, and I had to set him straight. He has since come around, though, and he was the only person who never questioned my ability to nurse through this pregnancy and then tandem nurse BabyA and Minion. My heart did a crazy little flip when he made an offhand comment about me needing to nurse "one or the other of them" once Minion arrives. That comment came while he was pointing out a double stroller at the zoo, less than 24 hours after we'd discovered I was pregnant.
I knew I was going to breastfeed. I had no idea for how long. Even during my pregnancy, I was a little put off by the idea of nursing my child in toddlerhood. I'd only known a few people who nursed past a year, and they were the "weird ones" in our community of friends. I had never considered extended nursing until I had a conversation with a coworker who didn't seem like your typical hippie mom in which she told me she had nursed her son for several years (I want to say it was somewhere near 5, but I'm not entirely sure on the exact number). This conversation took place years before I got pregnant, but it started me to thinking.
After BabyA was born, I found myself sucked into the swirling vortex that is Attachment Parenting. As much as I hate to identify myself with a specific group/type of parenting, I have become kind of an AP proponent over the past 16 months. When BabyA was 2 weeks old, I watched Jessica The Leaky Boob give birth to Sugarbaby via live webcast. That was my first experience with TLB community, and I never looked back.
I swore I'd never cloth diaper (so gross!), and we've been strictly cloth for almost a year now. In fact, I recently bought a small package of disposables so I could use a not-safe-for-cloth cream on BabyA's horrific diaper rash, and the smell of the disposables had me almost hurling at every diaper change. I insisted that my child would never sleep in my bed. We've been partially bedsharing for all of BabyA's tiny life. In fact, she's moving into her own bed this week so that she's well adjusted before Minion makes his appearance. I was intrigued by babywearing, but I was not going to spend hundreds of dollars on a carrier (which I mostly wanted because I thought I'd be able to nurse hands-free). I now own 2 woven wraps, an Ergo, and a wrap conversion ring sling (if you don't know what any or all of those are, get thee to Paxbaby.com and do some browsing), the total cost of which you probably don't want to know.
When I started on my journey towards more instinctual parenting, my views on breastfeeding changed, too. I wanted to nurse my baby as long as I possibly could. Minimally, I wanted to continue breastfeeding for 2 years. I went to La Leche League gatherings and met like-minded and encouraging moms. I joined a local babywearing group, and I've made some wonderful friends. I've become a less judgmental person as my parenting views have grown, too.
All of the above, and BabyA still self weaned just before 15 months old. I know my pregnancy is mostly to blame. I could feel my supply slipping, and I probably should have mentally prepared myself better for the possibility that BabyA would not continue dry nursing for several months until Minion arrived and brought the milk back with him. All of the logic and reason in the world, though, does not ease the pain of having a child wean before you're ready. The Husband's aunt was right.
While I have no regrets (there wasn't much I could do, anyway), I have struggled with depression. The end of our nursing relationship has caused some drastic changes in my house, and I've had a hard time embracing all of those changes. I feel like I'm somehow lacking as a mother because I'm missing my secret weapon. I no longer have boobie snacks to entice my exhausted-but-still-fighting-sleep child to come to bed. When she falls and hits her head (like she did this morning), I can't give her nursies to make it all better. I no longer have nursing as an excuse to just sit and cuddle my baby instead of doing housework (although I do still sit and cuddle her anyway). And I am jealous. So jealous of all the moms who weren't forced into situations like mine. Of all the moms who have met their breastfeeding goals and continue to nurse their babies.
Sometimes I think I must be a horrible, selfish person to be focused on what I didn't get when I had almost 15 months of a great breastfeeding relationship. Aside from an undiagnosed lip tie, a clogged duct or two, and several instances of biting, I had a wonderful experience. What about all the moms who are unable to breastfeed? Those who lack the support to continue in the face of hardship?
And then I remember that I can't minimize my feelings. That just because my situation may not be "as bad" as some others, I still have a right to be saddened by my loss. Because that's what it is: a loss. In order for me to be the best mother and person I can be, I have to embrace my feelings instead of burying them or hiding from them.
I know that this loss will only give me more motivation to help whenever possible to provide support to other nursing mothers. I was and am incredibly blessed by all of the support I've received, and to know that there are mothers who don't have that, and who may give up on their breastfeeding goals because of a lack of support, is devastating to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment