A Breastfeeding Story, Part 2: Confessions of a Nurse-a-holic

When I gave birth, I was adamant that I breastfeed my baby. I had read about the health benefits, the mother-baby bonding, and its marvelous uterus-shrinking properties, but these were just some of the perks. For me, I absolutely depended on my ability to breastfeed because I was living in a foreign country, a place where I was, in a word: illiterate. At the grocery store, for example, I couldn’t read a single label and often had to make educated guesses based on the drawings scrawled on the packaging—sometimes with hilarious results. Case in point, I once did my laundry for a month with bubble bath and was none the wiser. I couldn’t take the same chances when it came to feeding a baby. Even if I managed to recognize a tin of formula, how would I decipher the directions?

Needless to say, I prayed that my breasts would cooperate and make milk like a Jersey cow. As luck would have it, I got my wish. This was something I was good at! From the moment I put my son to my breast, it was breastfeeding bliss, and I marveled at how easy it was. My son latched with ease, and was a very gentle and cuddly baby to nurse. My body seemed to know exactly how much milk to produce so I never leaked through my clothes, or had sore, engorged breasts. Yes, go ahead and hate.

In the early going, I was in high and constant demand. My son nursed every two hours, and I more than happily obliged him. Looking back, boy did my husband have it easy! And yet, I never resented the feedings, or thought it was unfair. On the contrary, if my son slept for too long a stretch, I would get up and pace back and forth, waiting for him to need me again. I was hooked on this feeling, of being needed, and giving only what a mother could give.

After many months of happy feedings, and a return to our native soil, it was time to discuss weaning. I always envisioned that I would breastfeed for about 6 months. When we started to introduce solid foods around this time, my husband asked if I still planned to wean. My response went something like this: “Oh, yes. That. I forgot. Um…How about another month, just for safe measure?”    And this dear readers, is how 6 months turned into a year, and how a year is now coming up on 20 months.

At around the one-year mark, I started to receive not so subtle hints from family and friends. Some would offer helpful advice on how to wean, while others would openly mock and tease me. I started to feel guilty about breastfeeding, and wondered if I had crossed the line. I recalled a day at the park, when a mother offered her breast to her three-year-old after he did a face-plant in the sand. There was a collective intake of breath as other mothers looked on disapprovingly. I secretly applauded the woman, for not caring what anyone thought.  And yet, I promised myself that I wouldn't go that far.  But then I had to ask myself--how far is too far?

One day my mother-in-law asked me if I was nursing for my son, or nursing for myself. I reflected for some time before responding that I nurse for both of us. While my son may be getting nutrients from other sources now, breast milk is still providing him with both nutrition and protection against illness.  He's never been sick a day in his life and I attribute this to having nursed him for so long.  In addition, the act of nursing gives my son soothing comfort, and assures him of his mother’s love. Whenever he’s hurt, or afraid, or overtired, it’s what helps him to relax. I simply could not take this kind of instant comfort away from my child without feeling a sense of betrayal and guilt. I also wonder if we would be having the same conversation if we were talking about a blanket or a soother. Likely not.

As we approach two years, I have managed to whittle breastfeeding down to twice a day—first thing in the morning, and at bedtime. I’m OK with this. In my heart I know this is the right thing to do, and that there is no reason to feel ashamed. I will continue to set goals for weaning, but will ultimately take cues from my son, who I know will wean himself before long. If I’ve learned one thing from my experience with breastfeeding, it’s to cut myself a little slack. Our situations are all unique and we can’t put pressure on ourselves to conform to a set of expectations or perceived cultural norms. We simply have to do what feels right for us. And for me, that means hanging on a just a little bit longer—for safe measure.

-- Sarah Simpson

   sarah@babyontheway.ca