I’ve written before about breastfeeding and what it’s been like for me. I’ve been feeling the need to update that story, now that I’ve provided breastmilk for three kiddos. Each of my experiences breastfeeding has been unique, as I imagine they are for every mom. And what better time to update my story than during World Breastfeeding Week?
Did you catch what I said in the second sentence above? The words “… provided breastmilk for three kiddos …” were carefully chosen because Penelope Joy never actually fed at the breast. But I did, indeed, get to provide her with my milk for a very limited time.
And Dorothy? She nursed until she was 21 months old and I was well into my second trimester of pregnancy with Hobbes. Nursing Hobbes, though, has been … let’s just say … an adventure. And not one of those comedic ones, either.
I didn’t have nearly the issues with supply for Hobbes as I did for Dorothy. And my body responded so much better to the pump — leaving me with a nice little cushion of a freezer stash from the beginning. My pumping experience with Hobbes was so much less stressful than it was the first two times around, and I cried way fewer tears. I stopped pumping when he was about a year old, though he’s still nursing.
At 16 months old, he’s still nursing to sleep — for naps and at bedtime. And he’s still nursing in the night as well, some nights multiple times. Let’s not forget the just-before-we-head-out-the-door nursing, either, when he runs up to me, pulls my shirt down — or lifts my dress up — joyfully yelling “night night milk!” Oh, and then there are the run-by nursings where he literally runs up to me, puts his hand down my shirt, pulls my nursing bra down, takes a quick sip and resumes chasing after his sister or the dog or a shadow.
But probably my favorite — /sarcasm/ — thing about nursing Hobbes is when he shoves his foot in my face, picks my nose or repeatedly pinches my opposite nipple while nursing. Oh, yeah, and he bites. Often — but always with a sly little grin on his face.
There have been so many times when I looked at Mr. B and told him, “I’m so ready to be done with breastfeeding.” And he looks at me back, with knowing eyes.
Because he’s well aware that as soon as Hobbes climbs up on my lap, pushes up my shirt, snuggles in and looks at me with his big brown eyes, my heart will melt and I’ll have forgotten all the bites and bruises and annoying rush-around mornings. Because time is fleeting and breastfeeding this little man isn’t going to last forever. I know I’ll miss it when this stage has passed.
End note: I’d like to end this post by saying that I realize that breastfeeding can be a sensitive topic — one that’s so personal that a lot of moms feel judged based on if they chose to breastfeed, how long they chose to breastfeed, how they react to other women breastfeeding, etc. So every time I write about it I find it necessary to add caveats and explanations in fear of people feeling like me talking about my experience some way reflects on their experience or offers some kind of judgment for those experiences that are different from my own.
But, here’s the thing, I can only write what I know. I can only write what I’ve experienced. So, please take this post as that — simply another story into my life with no expectation or judgment reflecting on anyone else’s choices or experiences.