It’s World Breastfeeding week and I’m pregnant and
emotional. Here we are seeing things
from a different perspective- again.
Two years ago PSL invited me to speak at their nurses’
nursing conference. They support
breastfeeding and wanted to know how the patient experience translated. After learning about donated milk when Tobias
got it without my asking (miracle of miracles) and weeks of pumping and daily
visits to the NICU to deliver my supply, I wondered when they were going to
teach us how to eat- together. It was a wonderful opportunity to speak. I shared my intense gratitude, and made
suggestions with my intense pragmatism.
Last year I missed the whole event because I was working 80
hours a week.
This year, I am not nursing.
Tobias was down to the occasional toddler drive-by (which
often brought cartoonish Bungee-jumping from the Nipple images to mind)- his
way of reconnecting when I was actually around despite my brutal schedule. And night times. He would nurse just a few minutes, I’d become
antsy and tell him gently, “I need you to be done now please” and he would roll
over and go to sleep.
Sometimes it was awful at the end. Nursing while pregnant with my second was too
painful for me. I cried more than once,
begging him to let me go, sometimes in front of others, like my sister- who
kindly offered no advice. He would fall
asleep and get really toothy, but refuse to let go. Saving myself resulted in his exhausted, I-need-help-sleeping screaming that did nothing to reduce the
stress.
About a month before his second birthday, he went five days
without asking for milk. Then when he
asked for it, I told him it was all gone.
“Do you want some milk in a cup?”
Yes, he said. And I thought that
was it.
About two weeks later, tired and clingy, Tobias realized the
full extent of his weaning, and mourned the end of our nursing by weeping in my
arms for two hours. I focused so hard on
my empathy for him simply to drown out my own feelings. The quiet “I know”s and “I’m so sorry”s
whispered to my rocking child weren’t enough to take the edge off my memory of
that day.
How were we going to get through this in time for me to
nurse another baby in front of him? How
could I force this transition on my child, whose life-saving skin-to-skin time
made nursing the foundation of our relationship? It was crappy and inconvenient and I starved to death while we tried to figure out his Exorcist reflux, wearing a hole in the couch and trying to remember who else I was other than the Milk Truck, as Matt lovingly called me. I was so relieved to be done. But I needed Tobias to be ready too. How could I prepare him and not betray him?
…Three months later, we are getting ready to welcome
Tobias’s sister into the world. He
periodically checks in and reminds me that “there’s no more milk in there”. Eventually, I began affirming that statement
with my own: “Next time there is milk in there, it will be for the baby”. “Milk for the baby?” Yes, my love- yes…
God love toddlers, I am now looking forward to what comes
next. His remaining comfort measure is
to shove his hands into my armpits. Or
anyone’s armpits, for that matter.
Whether he is frightened, or hurt, or ready to sleep… “Armpit”, he sighs once he has a good grip with
such happiness and satisfaction that nobody can deny him.
Not only did I have no idea that one little person could
make me laugh so hard, but I really never expected that Tobias’s hilarious
antics would be what could heal me through everything- even guilt.
Just the other day one of the less securely clad Barbies in
our house revealed her plastic breasts.
Tobias happily stopped by every person he could find, showing us each
that he had “Found it the milk!” with great self-satisfaction. I
sincerely hope that after his sister arrives, he will nurse his other
toys. In front of everyone. I will laugh every time.
