Arlo.
You will wean yourself one day soon. Of this I am certain. You are eight months old and intent on exploring the world beyond your mother’s body.
You are distracted. Pulling yourself off every minute while drinking. Gazing at the lights. Watching your sister. Afraid you’re missing something.
I am ambivalent.
I used to think it odd that women would get so sentimental over the end of someone sucking on their breasts daily. It’s strange when you say it that way, you know? But here we are - somewhere I swore I’d never be. I’m the woman who claimed she wasn’t a big fan of babies. That she liked the stages of greater independence. That women who claim to like babies and breastfeeding are ones who haven’t dealt with the reality of either in a long time. And here I am - mourning the loss of your babyness and nursing before it is even over.
I began my rocky relationship with nursing when your sister was born. I did it because I felt it was expected of me, not because it was my secret super-power or even because I particularly enjoyed it. The first few months of uncertainty were frustrating. Mind-numbing. Hours upon hours of sitting. Wondering if she was getting enough. The insane pressure of being the only person in the world who could both calm and sustain her. And then, just when it seemed like we got into the groove, it ended when she was 10 months old. I can’t say I was upset - more confused that such a stubborn, die-hard nurser was so unphased by the transition. I maintained that the bonding of nursing hadn’t really happened to me - that it was a product of my imagination. Or some myth made up to encourage a practice that at times is less than glamorous or fulfilling.
As you may have heard, our breastfeeding beginnings were anything but ideal. I was so confident that I had mastered nursing, but began to feel defeated after enduring a ridiculous amount of pain. I persisted out of fairness - so that you had the opportunity to share some special quiet time with me in the midst of hectic days.
Somehow, it’s different this time. I’ve become that curious species of nursing mother that used to perplex me - I’ve become sentimental. I don’t know if it’s because I know you are probably my last child.I don’t know if it’s because I’ve gained that perspective that you get after you’ve done this all before. I don’t know what it is. All I know is, I’m sad. I’m sad because I can see the end and I miss you already. I’m upset that I’ll cease knowing you in a way that only I can know you. I’m mourning the absence of early mornings when I fetch you from your crib. And you look up at me like I’m a goddess. I’ll miss you laying next to me in my bed for the next few hours nursing and nuzzling into me. And then, I watch you fall asleep - perfectly still and peaceful. Pure magic.
One of the most disquieting things I’ve discovered after becoming a parent is the true meaning of ambivalence. The things you hate one minute, you love the next. You become a study in absurd contradictions where the laws of black and white don’t apply. But as much as I like to make jokes about the hardships, it isn’t all bad. It just isn’t. I’ll never claim that parenting is one endless Kodak moment - that’s so unfair. But it’s also unfair to not acknowledge those amazing moments -the ones that remind us about why we have children. What else are we in this for if not for a glimpse of the spectacular?
For now, my disdain for breastfeeding has been replaced with immense gratitude. I’ll try and file every sweet moment away, because they deserve to be remembered. When you look up at me and smile with your eyes. When you gently pet my arms, knead my chest, or pat my shoulders. When your small fingers grasp mine. When you frantically latch on, close your eyes, and sigh with relief. I know these things I’ve come to appreciate will soon disappear. So for the rest of our nursing relationship, I’ll turn off the TV and the computer. I’ll put down my book. And I’ll wear my rose-colored glasses that can only see the pure joy that is you.
I am envious of nursing mothers for this exact reason.
My boobs never worked, while I know why, I’m still a little disappointed in them.
For now, I will live vicariously through you.
Andi, you have articulated what I could not. Originally, I thought that breastfeeding was something I should do, not something I wanted to do. Somewhere along the way I realized that I was feeling somewhat sentimental. When I was a nursing mom, no one questioned my right to be possesive of my babies. With my little man, I nursed him until he was 18 months, and then one morning he flat out rejected me. To think that a baby can hurt your feelings! The transition was months in the making, because I only nursed him once a day from 13 months, but still! Hold Arlo just a few seconds more after he finishes each time he eats, and just drink in the glory.
Yep - it’s something I did not love and do not look back with loving memories. But I know I was lucky - it was easy for me and it was something only I could do for my boys. I do have fond memories of it - now.
That was really beautiful!
I was very lucky with breastfeeding, both times - no problems.
We are on our second day of no nursing here - at 16 months I’d say it’s about time
I’ve loved every minute of it, and I’ve felt many of the things you mention here, but I’m fine about this transition. He’s ready, and so am I!
So beautifuly expressed…so many of my own feelings seem to me to be wrapped up in what you wrote.
Oh honey, I hear you. This is my exact feeling, and you said it so well. I had planned to stop nursing my daughter at six months, and I tried. But, I realized she was ready to ween but I wasn’t. So, I had to continue another couple months until I was emotionally prepared. It’s crazy how attached you get to it. It really is as sweet as you say, as maddening as it can be. And I can already tell that the boy will be harder. Like you say, the boys have a way of looking at you so that you feel like a goddess in a way the girl’s don’t. It really is magical. And so sad when the time has to pass.
Oh, how bittersweet nursing and weaning are. I sobbed the last time I breastfed. Funny how something that I started out hating so much would become something that I would eventually miss so much.
Sigh. This post has made me weepy.
I was surprised too when my son showed signs of being ready to stop nursing at 10 months. I had committed to a year mentally, and when he moved on before me, I wasn’t ready. We maintained the little morning nurse and cuddle up until a year. But if I’m honest, it was really more for me than him.
I held on to nursing Sacha longer than he really needed to. Not that he didn’t still enjoy it, but I think I was getting much more out of our alone time at that point than he was.
As for Arlo at 8 months, Sacha went through the same thing at that age. I thought he would wean himself, as he was so distracted and uninterested in nursing, and I was terribly sad and distraught. It was a phase, however, that passed, and he remained a boobie baby until 12 months, then held on to the bedtime nursing until 14 months.
Just enjoy it one feeding at a time, and who knows, he may decide it’s worth hanging on to for a while longer.
It’s a very strange thing, nursing. And yet you miss it when it’s gone.
Beautiful, Andi.
I just wrote my haiku for tomorrow and THIS was the subject.
Yet another reason we’re long lost sisters.
Thank goodness I don’t often have to nurse in public or everyone would catch b00bie shots since Ella cannot stay attached for all the exciting things going on around her.
this was a beautiful post, andi.
Oh Andi!! I love this post. You have captured all of the joys and difficulties I found in nursing too–all of them.
The smiling eyes, the contented sighs…oh I miss those days!!!
So perfectly described. I love your last paragraph. *sigh*
I think that is beautifully written and very very sweet.
My experience with breastfeeding was so similar, such a mixed bag. I too had always thought that women who got sentimental about ending it were just sort of incomprehensible, but then… sigh. I don’t miss it anymore, but I do sometimes have a twinge of baby lust when I see another mom whose little one is still nursing.
Oh Andi that was brilliant. I am hysterical. For once on these last weeks it is not hormones…you are truly that amazing!
Wow.
This was just beautiful, Andi.
Oh so well written! I love this! I was very sad when my boys stopped nursing. I can completely relate!
Arlo will always adore you as we do. What a heartfelt post!
Bravo! a beautiful post
Well put. It was more difficult when #3 came to an end- I still get a little sad about it 2 years later.
Thanks
Perfectly expressed.
I was both sad and relieved when, at 11 months, my son stopped nursing.
I started out so rocky, too, but came to love it so very much, and nursed T.until she was 21 months. I still dream about it, still fele pangs of sadness that it’s over.
So very beautifully written. As a mom that did not nurse, this really gives me some insight as to what I missed out on. Perhaps I should have tried harder. Anyway, very nice. Thanks for sharing!
I so know how it feels to miss it even before it’s over. I’m dreading and at the same time longing for it to be over with.
I love the name Arlo. Do you know that song? A-a-a is for apple, R-r-r is for robin, L-l-l Ellen Degeneres, and O my god it’s Arlo!
I feel your ambivalence. You will always remember the look in their eyes when you finally end the most beautiful bonding experience a mother has with a child. You will look upon it fondly and remember that you nourished your baby into the toddler, child, teenager and adult they will become. (all too quickly). Welcome to tube-ville, Andi!
[...] our responsibility as her slaves to inform them of her condition. The host is doing well. She had anticipated being weepy and mourning the loss of what is probably her last nursing relationship (yippee!) When the time came, she was [...]