The End of an Era: A Nursing Story

Tonight, I put the girls to bed with our usual routine, milk, snuggles, lots of giggles as I blew raspberries on their little round tummies, cozy jammies, sleep sacks and then off to bed in their shared nursery. I settled each of them down in their matching mini cribs with a million kisses and the wish that they “sleep sweet”, turned off the light, and let them drift into baby dreamland. It was a normal night for the three of us.  Nothing out of the ordinary or special except, the milk that filled those ridiculously cute bellies no longer came from nursing.  At nine months, my sweet girls have closed the chapter on breastfeeding and brought to an end my eight-year journey of feeding my four children from my own body.

Let me be clear here, I have not been consistently nursing for eight years straight but, this journey did start very nearly eight, 7 years and 348 days to be exact, years ago when our beautiful Atticus came into the world.  Like most things I encounter in my life, I had a very strong idea of what motherhood was going to be and boy oh boy, was that idea completely rocked by the reality of the situation.  And not more so than when I began to take my tiny baby to my breast in order to sustain his little life.  Everything I knew of nursing was that it was a beautiful link between mother and baby, a great source of bonding, a connection that was unmatched by anything.  And, yes, it absolutely was but, no one prepared me for what came before all magical bonding.  No one prepared me for the improper latch that cause my nipples to crack and bleed.  No one prepared me for the first night at home after the hospital, laying on the floor crying, and hoping that if he couldn’t touch me, then he wouldn’t need me.  My haze of postpartum brokenness was so confused and sad that this wasn’t coming as naturally as it should have.  That was the night I delved the deepest into my well of confusion, and helplessness, and betrayal.

After that one horrible night, things began to get better.  I no longer felt like my body was betraying me at every turn.   It knit itself back into one piece.  The night sweats dried. I finally could relax my toes that had been so tightly curled in anticipation of the nausea inducing pain of Atty's latch.   I finally knew how to position my baby “correctly” on the breast.  I had mastered it and it finally felt powerful.  This was the earth goddess connection that I had been craving from the start.  I could cure any ailment, sickness was avoided, and I could feed my baby any moment he demanded it.  There was nothing quite like the wonder of it. And I was so, so proud of my baby and I for learning how to connect this way with each other. 

Atticus breastfed for a year and then right after his birthday just decided to stop one day.  (Incidentally, immediately after he weaned himself, the started to sleep through the night for the first time.  What a time in our lives that was!)   It was strangely final and sudden, and I wasn’t terribly sure that I was at all ready for it.  I had intended to nurse him for a year and absolutely achieved that goal but there was a strange melancholy to just being done, without ceremony or a parting wish.  And, at that time, he was going to be our only child so, I felt that melancholy, honored it, and moved on from the time that held that great goddess power.  Until, of course, we decided that we were ready to add another little life to our family and Jasper came into our world.

This time, I knew.   I knew how to maneuver and place him.  I knew that I could use a pump to protect myself from any growing pain or damage.  And I knew that after a few weeks, my body would understand the process and settle into the routine of female power and nourishment.  What I didn’t know was, my body would decide that nursing this child was not something I could do long term.  Much to my shock and worry, at his six-month weigh in, Jasper had begun to lose weight.  Over the course of the preceding month, my usually happy and extremal easy baby had become fussy, non-sleeping, and generally inconsolable.  With this declining weight, it all began to make sense.  My body had stopped producing enough milk to keep fattening up this little boy.  I felt betrayed and disappointed.  I felt like I failed my child.  And yet, here was motherhood, again teaching me, that nothing in parenthood goes to plan.  Instead of fighting it though, it was time to adapt and embrace another solution.  It wasn’t me that had failed, it was the road that had shifted.  So, we embraced fed being best and started Jasper on formula right away.  Before long he was the chubby, happy baby he had always been and at eight months he was done with the breast.

This last time around presented me with a whole new set of challenges.  Breastfeeding twins was not, not a daunting idea, but I was determined to make it a success!   Of course, my head was filled with questions… How would I mitigate any breast damage when there were two of them?  Would I spend the entirety of my days on the couch, nursing babies?  Could I handle tandem feeding?  And, most pressing of all, would I make enough milk for TWO babies?  After all, last time around, my body had struggled to sustain one.  There were so many questions and so much standing in my way. 

Despite it all, I forged ahead and managed with resounding success!  I was so proud and excited when I latched both tiny babies on just hours after their birth and was smothered with accolades by the nurses and breastfeeding coach.  It was such relief to know I could, in fact do it.  And I continued to do it!  I knocked down each challenge and question I thought I had with strength and success.  My babies were fed and growing.  I actually had time during the day that wasn’t feeding babies and Trav and I had worked night feedings out to science, tandem feeding them so the time we were awake was cut in half.  I felt like a superhero.  A true mother goddess.  And I did that for over eight months.

My girls are now sitting up, laughing, and interacting with the world.  They are no longer the little alien peanuts they were when we brought them home from the hospital.  The world is a fun, exciting place and they want nothing more than to interact with it.  This is absolutely wonderful, but it does mean that sitting with their faces buried in my breast, only able to look up at me is not nearly as fun anymore.  There is too much going on and there is no way they are going to miss it.  My little Geminis need to see and connect with the world around them and wasting time nursing is not at all what they want any more.  Momma has decided it is time and we are moving onto bottles and solid food.  I’m trying to think of it as an exciting transition to a whole new world food and growth for my babies.  And I’m letting myself grieve the ending of an era.  I have spent 3 years (I feel justified in counting the twins nursing time twice!) of my life nursing my babies, being the primary, if not sole food, source for my children and I am so proud of myself.  As we move onto a different stage, I shall grieve the ending but celebrate the achievement.  I have been a nursing momma and I will treasure that for the rest of my life.