Tag Archives: breastfeeding

Breastfeeding a Biter

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?

Images of each kid breastfeeding

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.

images of Hobbes breastfeedingBecause 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. 




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The End of Another Chapter

I woke up the other day and realized another milestone in Dottie’s life had passed: it had been a week since she’d nursed. How did it take me a week to realize there was no more breastfeeding? It happened so suddenly — without any of the pomp and circumstance that most milestones receive. There were no balloons. There was no confetti. There were no pictures. There was no cake! If nothing else, an occasion as momentous as this one at least deserves a slice of cheesecake.

But … there it was, an early morning wake-up without Dottie nursing as she woke the rest of the way up. To be honest, for a while it had been mostly just bedtime and wake-up nursing. I so looked forward to those quiet moments when she’d snuggle up close to me and nurse while we began or finished our day.

Breastfeeding and pumping was not easy for me. But I was determined to make it to a year breastfeeding. At a year, if she decided she was done, that’s what it would be. But, she kept wanting to nurse and as soon as the pressure to pump and provide bottles for her was removed, I relaxed and was able to enjoy it — with far fewer tears than the pump brought me.

If you’d have told me two years ago that I’d be nursing a 21-month-old, I never would have believed you. If you’d have told me that I’d be nursing a 21-month-old well into my second trimester of my next pregnancy, I would have told you you were crazy.

It’s worked for us, though. Most importantly, it’s worked for Dottie. I’ve always followed her lead. I nursed her when she was hungry, not on my schedule. And I promised we’d be done nursing only when she was done.

Feeding Dottie

And, so here we are again — the tears have found me once more. This time, not because breastfeeding is hard and exhausting and I don’t know if I can do it anymore. This time, it’s because I miss it. I miss that special part of my relationship with Dottie. I’m sad that that part of our story is over. Mostly, I’m sad that I don’t even remember it ending.

Don’t get me wrong, I know the bond we created while breastfeeding isn’t just going to go away because Dottie isn’t nursing anymore. And I knew, eventually, that part of our relationship had to end. It’s just another chapter in our family’s love story that will close as we move on to the next chapter.

Thankfully, Dottie is very free with her hugs and kisses, often stopping right in the middle of what she’s doing, running over to Mr. B or me and asking for “kisses, please.” Hugs are given freely, and snuggles (‘nuggles) are abundant. There is a lot of love in our little toddler. And our closeness isn’t going to end just because she’s not nursing anymore. I just wish there had been some warning. And cheesecake.




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Some Thoughts on Breastfeeding

Feeding Dottie

Breastfeeding Dottie: newborn, 6 months, 1 year

I’ve had this photo sitting in a folder on my desktop for a number of days, but I’ve been hesitant to post it. Breastfeeding is a very natural — but very personal — thing. It also can be a sensitive topic: some women choose not to breastfeed; some women cannot breastfeed; some women breastfeed for 1 month or 6 months or 12 months or 36 months. That it every woman’s personal decision and right — and I respect that.

What I’m about to say in no way refers to anyone’s story other than my own. It casts no judgments and makes no assumptions. What I’m about to say is only about me and my experience. It is my breastfeeding story.

And it starts with Penelope Joy.

When I had Penelope Joy and we found out she had even more birth defects and complications than we could have imagined, I was heart broken — for a number of reasons. When we said “hello” and welcomed Penelope Joy into the world, we said “good-bye” to a lot of our ideas about what it meant to have our first child, what it meant to be parents.

One of the things I was most looking forward to was breastfeeding my baby girl. And then … I couldn’t. Due to her condition and to her nonexistent immune system, we were told she would need to receive special formula. Then, we found out she could receive breast milk — as long as my blood tests remained CMV negative every week. It wasn’t the “breastfeeding” I had in mind, but at least I’d be able to provide for her. This is what my first breastfeeding experience looked like:


At least, that’s what it looked like until she got too sick and couldn’t have my milk anymore. And, let me tell ya, having to pump milk for a baby who couldn’t have it — and then who was dead — was difficult and, honestly, pretty emotionally scarring. I spent a lot of hours crying while I was hooked up to a pump so I could avoid engorgement. Even writing about it right now brings tears to my eyes.

So, to say that it was important for me to breastfeed Dottie would be an understatement. When she was born, she snuggled right up to me and was nursing within the first several minutes.


But our breastfeeding relationship hasn’t always been as easy as it was on day one. Once it was time for me to think about heading back to work, I started pumping. I didn’t respond super well to the pump, though, and I didn’t start pumping soon enough. When I went back to work, I barely had any stock in the freezer.

Pretty much from that first week back, I was barely keeping up with Dottie’s demand — what I pumped at work on Monday, she ate on Tuesday. Any stock I built up over the weekends she’d eat throughout the following week and I’d be back at square one before Friday rolled around. In addition, I was driving to daycare on my lunch hour to breastfeed.

It was exhausting — I felt like a poorly performing milk machine. There were days I called Mr. B on the way home from work crying because I had no milk for Dottie for the next day. And we could pretty much throw out any ideas of a date night out without Dottie because I had no milk to leave with a babysitter.

I felt like I was doing it wrong because people don’t talk about how hard it can be. We’re constantly told how natural and beautiful and amazing it is to breastfeed. But women seldom talk about how it feels when it’s not going well, when you feel like your body isn’t doing the one thing it’s supposed to be doing. There were a lot of days that I felt like a failure. I cried a lot — morning, noon and night … especially night … and morning.

Once we introduced Dottie to solid foods, things started to get a little more relaxed. But, she still was having bottles throughout the day and I had a hard time keeping up with her needs. I’ve just recently stopped pumping milk for her. (I kept saying “this is my last week pumping” and then continued for another week.) It’s been bittersweet.

Pumping while working full-time is a lot of work, but I’ve felt proud to provide Dottie with her main source of nutrition — even when it’s been hard. In fact, it’s one of the things I’m most proud of in my whole life. Dottie’s still nursing in the mornings before work, in the evenings, before bed, on the weekends and sometimes through the night. And I’ll continue to breastfeed her as long as she wants — knowing her, she’ll be very clear in telling me she’s ready to stop.



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