Dear Charon,
You've taken a big step lately. You don't nurse at night anymore. You've begun the weaning process, and I'm really proud of you.
Actually, you started weaning once you started solids, but it's been such a gradual change that it is only now, with this dramatic difference, that I can really see that someday you will be done. And that someday may come even sooner than I think.
Because I can see that the end is in sight, I want to tell you the story of our nursing relationship before it fades too much from my memory. I also want to tell you this story because it's changed me in some pretty profound ways. This story is going to be a long one -- it has been a long relationship, much longer than I'd expected! I'll write this in a few installments. Let's start from the beginning, when I was pregnant with you and just deciding to breastfeed.
I remember talking to my mom about nursing. She had sent me The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding and encouraged me in that very diplomatic way she has. She started her advertising campaign by telling me why it would be good for me. "It's just so easy," Mom explained. "You've always got baby's food right with you, all taken care of and ready to go. So convenient!" Then she went on to explain the health benefits for moms: "It helps your uterus contract," she explained. "You'll recover more quickly after you give birth." Then I heard about prolactin, the hormone that nursing mothers produce, which is like a wonderful mom-drug, making you feel very relaxed and content. I was sold. My mom knew how to promote a product.
As I read The Womanly Art and searched the Internet for information on breastfeeding, I learned about how good it is for babies, too. One list I found overwhelmed me with 101 reasons to breastfeed. As I read them, I thought, "How cool that my body makes something so amazing! And how cool that I can give this gift to my baby!" My decision was made.
So I knew I would nurse you, but didn't know for how long. "I nursed you for four months," I remember Mom telling me. "I wish I had gone longer."
"Four months is a long time!" I exclaimed. I imagined being tied down for that long, not able to leave you with anyone else for more than a couple of hours. "You did great," I insisted. "I hope I can make it that long."
Right around that time, I read an article about breastfeeding in our local newspaper. The American Academy of Pediatrics had just changed their recommendation on length of time to breastfeed. Before,they had encouraged a mother to nurse for at least six months. Now they had upped it to at least a year. "Whoa," I thought. "A whole year. That's an awfully long time. I don't know if I can do that." But another seed was planted. I've always been one to try to follow the "rules," as long as I trust the rule-maker.
Before I knew it, I was getting ready for your birth, a little afraid but also a little excited about seeing what my body could do. My water broke on a Sunday evening, and by the following Monday, around noon, the nurse said I was ready for the pushing stage. I worked and worked, trying to urge you out, for over four hours. Finally, you were born late that afternoon. You cried at first, but stopped and stared at me when I talked to you and held you close. "She's so gorgeous!" I kept telling Pete, my parents, everyone in the room. My transition was immediate. Just a minute ago, I had been focused on the work of giving birth, on myself and on my job. Suddenly, I was transformed into a mother, full of wonder over you, saying, "I could do that again!" I was in awe, amazed at how you had just come from inside of me, and that Pete and I had both helped to create beautiful little you.
After that first glowing moment, I remembered. "Should I breastfeed her now?" I asked the nurse. "Sure!" She helped me with your latch. "Oh, she's good at this already!" she told me. I beamed. You grabbed on and wouldn't let me go.
The first few weeks were hard. I was so glad I had read a lot. I knew to put Lansinoh on after each time you nursed. At the hospital, I had developed a little blister on one nipple. Because I knew to put Lansinoh on after each nursing session (and to make sure you latched correctly each time), the blister went away quickly.
I was also very thankful to have people around me who encouraged me. For that whole first week, Pete would help me hold you while you nursed. I felt like I didn't have enough arms: holding my breast for you to grab it correctly, holding your head behind your little ears, and then, what to do with your body? By the end of the first week, I had learned to nurse you laying down, and that helped immensely.
My parents came over to coo at you almost every day for those first two weeks. Mom always put a snack by my rocking chair - muffins, apples, grapes, peanut butter toast. She refilled my water bottle when I asked. She read to me from my breastfeeding books while I held you. I'd tell her my concerns, and she'd look them up while reassuring me with her own experiences of nursing. One book was really funny - So That's What They're For - and we loved laughing together while she read it out loud.
I didn't expect you to eat so often. When you'd cry, Pete and I would look at our notes to see when you had last nursed. If it was less than an hour ago, we'd try other things - diaper change, rocking, dancing, checking for something pinching you. Finally, we figured out that it was most often nursing you wanted, again. We finally threw out our notes, knowing that if your wet and dirty diapers were on track, then you were doing fine.
You stayed attached to me almost constantly those first few weeks. My neighbor, who was still nursing her toddler, helped me with that:
"She doesn't sleep for very long stretches yet. I'm not sure what we should do about that," I told her.
"Well, they have very small tummies, and breastmilk digests so easily," she gently told me. "Just keep following her cues. You're doing great!" she reassured.
I hung in there, and soon, after a month or so, you and I were doing great. I remember when I was finally not so embarrassed about nursing in front of others. I could latch you on without hiking my shirt way up to examine your attachment to my nipple. I remember hearing people's questions about nursing, and feeling so much more confident answering them:
"Don't you
leak everywhere?" or "Doesn't letdown hurt?"
"Nope; as
you nurse longer, your body figures it all out. I hardly leak
at all anymore, and although letdown was intense at first, it
gets less and less strong."
"How do you
know she's getting enough?"
"We follow
her cues, and watch her diapers."
"Aren't you
tired from being the only one who can feed her at night?"
"I'm feeling
pretty good. I nurse her in bed, and I'm able to fall asleep now
as she nurses, and she falls back to sleep beside me. It works
perfectly, and I love having her near me at night."
As you got
older, nursing got easier and easier. I remember often putting
you into your sling to nurse you while dancing around the house
to music or loading the dishwasher. When you got stronger and
had more control of your body, you could help me by moving easily
to my breast on your own as I held you in my arms. We also developed
a better communication system for nursing. You'd cuddle up to
me when I held you, and I could tell it was time.
That first
year went by so quickly. Before I knew it, I was an EN'er (extended
nursing mom.) I was thrilled with breastfeeding, so pleased with
how it helped you to stay healthy and happy. People started asking
me at this one-year point if I was now working on weaning you
to cow's milk. I couldn't imagine it. You were an expert nurser
at that point, and you loved it. How was I supposed to explain
to my baby that her favorite thing in the world would be taken
away? And for what reason? I couldn't justify removing something
from your life that was so good for you, and that you loved so
much.
So, within
a year, I went from thinking breastfeeding sounded pretty good
because of its benefits to me, to wanting to continue to nurse
you because it was so good for you. Motherhood has definitely
changed me. I feel like I'm still growing up.
More in the
next entry!
Love,
Mom
Click on the camera to see our family, just after your birth.
Click on the camera to see you at one year old!
Copyright © 2001 - 2003 Caryl Mousseaux. All rights reserved.
