Tag Archives: Breastfeeding

It snuck up on me like a common cold. First I thought it was nothing and now I know it’s something. A special thanks to A Cup Of Jo and this Huffington Post article for confirming my current reality: weaning can do weird things to the brain.

I first wrote about weaning in the beginning of December in this post. It was happening and although I was sad, we never got a chance to reach the end. A day after I wrote that post, Waylon caught a stomach bug and regressed back to nursing three times a day. For a week it was the only thing he could keep down, and while I should have been frustrated, my only emotion was relief.

Two months later and we begin again. I went away this weekend with my girlfriends and while it was great, it was also the longest Waylon and I have been apart and not nursed. So I thought: maybe I should just let this be the end. He’s strong, independent, completely fine without it, and if I start now–there will have never been a conscious ”last time” for my sentimental spirit to endure. Maybe we can easily transition into being weaned! Maybe this is all it takes.

So far, I imagine this is what postpartum depression feels like; an inexplicable sadness combined with a dull ache in my chest. I walk around the house like someone died. Nothing interests me, all food tastes the same, my body is on autopilot. I try to explain it to my friends, but I can only choke back tears.

I tell you this not to evoke pity, but to examine the science. I was never a breastfeeding fanatic, nor did I plan to nurse this long, and yet this change feels strangely heartbreaking.

Unfortunately no one ever talks about depression after weaning. Before A Cup Of Jo’s blog post, I didn’t even know it existed. What a cruel joke; 19 months of feeding a baby only to be followed by sadness instead of celebration. I can’t even tell you why I’m sad, but only that I am sad. Something isn’t right. Something chemical. Something not chemical. There is a tenderness in my bones that needs healing.

I’m going to take that time to heal now.

As always, thank you for listening. It takes a village and you are part of that village.

Yesterday it occurred to me that we are in the process of weaning.

It was a strange realization and surprisingly sad. I had often looked forward to the end of breastfeeding and wished it would happen sooner. Now that it’s here, I find myself hesitating, not wanting to let go of these final moments of infancy with my almost one and a half year old son.

There’s no doubt I led the process. Over the past few months I’ve slowly transitioned my milk addict to limited nursing. Three times a day, only in his room or mine, and never downstairs or in public. I set up these rules for two reasons. One, I wanted us both to have more independence, and two–Waylon was constantly pulling at my shirt in public whenever he was anxious, sad, or tired and I needed that to end stat (it worked).

Here’s the sleep/nursing schedule we’ve been on:

6:30am: Wake up, nurse in bed for 20-40 minutes (on rare, amazing mornings we both fall back to sleep until 8)

1:00pm: Nurse for 5 minutes and down for a 3 hour nap

8:00pm: Nurse for 5 minutes, down for the night

As much as I resisted a set schedule during infancy, routine just works for toddlers. Or rather, this toddler. It makes it easier to plan our days and less hassle for whoever cares for him while I’m away. Like sleep training, less breast time has been a transition that has fallen into a rhythm. We follow this same schedule almost every day.

Until this past Monday.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been giving Waylon the option of nursing after bedtime stories by saying “sing or bed?” (I sing while I nurse). 100 percent of the time he turned around to nurse and I was fine with that. But on Monday afternoon he did not turn around. Instead, he pointed to his crib and let out a soft cry. He was ready to sleep.

He hasn’t nursed before bed since.

My first reaction was hurt feelings. Even though I know it’s normal and appropriate and right, my eyes swell with tears. That’s my baby.

My second thought was about those morning nummies, or as Austin calls it, “Waylon’s morning coffee.” How can I give that up? That extra 30 minutes to an hour of sleep is hard to pass up on these dark winter mornings (I know I’m being lazy). Also, will he ever snuggle with me like that again? IS THIS THE END OF EVERYTHING?

I know that thinking about the last time of anything when it comes to babies is futile, which is why I’m going to try to focus on looking ahead. Not only is Waylon becoming braver, smarter, and taller every day–he is also becoming more like himself. Because that’s what we do as we grow. We become more like ourselves every day until we become teenagers and lose ourselves for awhile. (But don’t worry, we come back. Usually sometime after college when we’ve stopped smoking weed and realize our parents weren’t lying about vegetables after all). It’s a journey. This is a next step in a set of a million steps.

Breastfeeding started as a voyage into the unknown. When I look back at that girl, trembling at the sight of her newborn, I nearly cry. She was so in awe of that creature. In awe and so unbelievably scared.

Weaning is a milestone. I know it’s corny, but let me have a moment here– I fed this kid with my body for nearly 18 months. That’s something to be celebrated. Today I celebrate that.

***

I’ve never been overly sentimental about breastfeeding. In fact, I’ve often poked fun at la leche moms, because despite the fact that they are making healthy choices and encouraging our world to be more boob-friendly, they are also kind of annoying. I know I’m not supposed to say this.

The thing is, from the beginning, the whole business of breastfeeding has been a giant pain. Sometimes literally, with latch changes and teeth, clawing and scratching, and often figuratively, pulling me away from conversations and interrupting my life for yet another stop at the milk buffet.  And yet for all its disadvantages, here I am soldiering on. One year later and I’m still feeding on demand, through the night, and in cramped bathroom stalls–all for the love of baby.

Or is it?

There’s no denying this past year of nursing has taught me a lot about patience and endurance, but it has also revealed to me a giant secret about babies: boobs = quiet.

Is baby hungry? Boobs. Is baby fussy? Boobs. Is baby tired? Boobs! Want a moment of silence? BOOBS.

Surprisingly, this breastfeeding philosophy is wildly unpopular these days. In fact, I’ve had people outright tell me I’m doing it wrong. Part of me agrees. For example, next time I will absolutely not forget to give the kid a bottle once a day. I didn’t realize that shying away from bottles would cause Waylon to refuse to take one all together, cornering me into a wall of dependency. I also agree with the camp who says that breastfeeding your babies to sleep prevents them from sleeping through the night. They are absolutely right. As of last night, Waylon is still getting mid-sleep nummies.

Here’s the thing, the pros of breastfeeding far outweigh the cons. Do I groan at 3AM when I hear Waylon fussing in his bed? Yes, but I’m almost immediately back to sleep when he’s nursing next to me. Am I annoyed when I have company over and he’s pulling at my shirt? Yes, but afterwards he’s much happier and playing with his toys independently. It’s a great trick and more than convenient having these baby soothers built into my body.

I think a lot of people who see me continuing to breastfeed and co-sleep assume that I’m an overindulgent parent. So far I’ve heard, “You’re going to spoil him!” “It’s obvious who’s in charge in your house!” and “Looks like Waylon has you right where he wants you.” I try to laugh off these conversations, but it does cause moments of self doubt. So much so that on a few separate occasions we’ve tried to let him cry it out or have skipped feedings to work on his patience.

Finally I emailed two mamas who breastfed and co-slept until their kids were well past a year old. I tried not to sound desperate, but I was little desperate. I told them I worried about the pattern I’d set up for Waylon, that he’d probably be sleeping with us when he’s sixteen, and that he was too dependent.

Much to my relief, they both responded with multi-paragraph examples of how their kids are fine, no longer breast-feeding, and perfectly adjusted to real life. One of them even lamented not breastfeeding longer. She said, “After I weaned both my boys started getting chronic ear infections and we dealt with tons of doctor’s visits/antibiotics/tube discussions. Around 2 the ear infections stopped. So, that’s more motivation. I say all this because weaning is really enticing when you have a baby who nurses all night and weaning might be the cure all. But man, nursing is the best, whether you feel all swoony about it or not.”

The other wrote back with specific examples of weaning, breastfeeding, and co-sleeping with all four of her children. She even had the decency to dig out her old baby books and copy down verbatim how she was feeling at the time and I noted that all her children were much closer to two than one when they were weaned and out of their bed. I breathed a sigh of relief.

What’s most ridiculous is that these moms were some of the only moms I felt comfortable asking. Breastfeeding has become one of those dicey topics that shouldn’t be dicey. I’m still confused what we’re fighting about. Are there really women out there trying to convince other women not to breastfeed past a certain age? Are we still throwing stones at those who don’t breastfeed at all? I’m honestly confused.

At least once a week someone asks how long I plan on keeping up this gig. Usually it’s non-threatening and, despite being a bit tired of talking about it, usually leads to a great discussion. But there are also the raised eyebrow conversations, the ones where I end up talking too much and making up statistics so I don’t look like a crazy la leche freak. It’s not my favorite.

Look, I’m going to nurse this kid until he self-weans or turns two, whichever comes first. And after it’s all over, you better believe I’m going to cry about it, because despite being an annoyance, it’s also really beautiful and unbelievably convenient.

And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

***

Thanks Erin and Jennifer for answering my desperate emails.