The End of Something Good

To my son:

You won't remember nursing, but I will. There are many moments of your first 29 months have that already slipped away from me, but I know with certainty that my memories of nursing you will be with me forever.

I knew I would nurse you. I read about breastfeeding while I was pregnant with you. I learned that it would be hard and that it might hurt, but I was determined to succeed. My reasons weren't all selfless; I wanted to lose the pregnancy weight faster and I didn't want to bother with bottles. But I also wanted you to be healthy and to have what was undeniably "best".

You lost a full pound of your birth weight before my milk came in. The nurses in the hospital began to mumble things about dehydration, but I knew the colostrum would tide you over. I stubbornly refused to give you formula until the fourth day, when we were back in our own home. I cried, fully convinced that I was broken and you would starve. Daddy went to the kitchen to prepare you a bottle. I reached down to check one last time, and there it was. My milk had arrived quietly, and just in time.

In the first several weeks I nursed you so often that I felt I had somehow become an extension of the recliner in our living room. I watched the days and nights slip by me. You were happy and content as long as you were at the breast, so that's what we did. I remember the quiet of the house and the streets outside, and I remember looking into your eyes and realizing that I would never, ever be the same person that I was before you came into my life.

Eventually I got skilled at nursing you in public, so we spent afternoons walking aimlessly around Target or the mall. You nursed while being carried in a sling, and no one could tell. It was our secret. It didn't have to be, but it felt more special that way.

We gave you your first taste of solid foods when you turned 6 months old, and I was afraid that "real food" might interfere with your desire to nurse. But it didn't, and you nursed just as enthusiastically as you always had. Solids were messy and took time to prepare. Some days you liked pureed sweet potatoes, and some days you spit them out in disgust. I realized again how easy breast feeding was in comparison.

As the months went by, we developed a routine--or more accurately, we learned to exist without one. We both functioned better when I let you nurse and sleep when you wanted to. This meant you nursed often throughout the night, but since you were in bed with us, I barely noticed and usually slept through your nursing sessions.

We had some setbacks--somewhere around 15 months you "fell off the growth charts". The pediatrician encouraged Daddy and me to fatten you up with olive oil, cream, eggs, and lots of cheese. I worried that your all night breast feeding sessions might be interfering with your intake of solid foods, but hours of obsessive Internet research eventually alleviated my fears. I was certain that you were getting what you needed nutritionally. Blood work at the doctor's office confirmed that you were indeed healthy, and simply smaller than the majority of American babies.

Then there were the endless months of constant night-waking, where you screamed and could not be consoled, even at the breast. I knew something was wrong and I felt certain your stomach was bothering you. Our ever-empathetic pediatrician gave us a prescription of Zantac to see if silent reflux might be causing the problems. And voila--we all started sleeping again.

Right around your second birthday, people started asking me when I was going to wean you. I knew that many of our friends and family already though it was "weird" that you had nursed until two. To them, my decision to continue nursing you beyond the age of two officially made me one of "those women"--a fanatic boob Nazi or an over-attached mother who was nursing for herself rather than the needs of her child.

Once again I turned to the Internet, and learned about the multitude of physical and emotional needs that breast feeding was continuing to offer you. Ideally I wanted you to self-wean, though I admit that the thought of nursing you beyond your third or even fourth birthday was not very appealing to me.

2 months after your second birthday, I discovered that I was pregnant with your sister. First trimester exhaustion hit, and nursing you became incredibly painful. I decided, reluctantly, to try night-weaning. I relied on a plan laid out by Dr. Jay Gordon, a well-know pediatrician and (male) lactation consultant. We followed his plan loosely, adjusting it slightly to meet our own family's needs.

Amazingly, night-weaning was much easier than I had anticipated. You adapted well and still nursed happily a few times a day. You were in the middle of your Busy Phase--always on the go, exploring everything, and very, very curious.

A couple of months after we night-weaned, I noticed that nursing wasn't always the first thing you turned to when you were hurt or upset. Sometimes, when you skinned your knee or bumped your elbow, you came over to me and asked for a kiss instead of nursing. It was strange at first, but I realized that often you just didn't want to stop what you were doing long enough to breast feed. You needed a bit of reassurance from me, but then you were content to carry on with your play.

We went from nursing 3 or 4 times a day, to 2 or 3, to once a day, before nap time. And then a day would go by here and there when you didn't nurse at all. There were lots of kisses and hugs doled out by both of us during this time. At night, often you would snuggle up close to me and whisper "gimme hugs". Those quiet moments reminded me of the ones we shared in our very first days together. Only now you were giving me back even more, an independent little person with a sense of a humor and the ability to express things with words.

Five months after your second birthday, I realized that you had gone for 3 days without nursing. I wondered if you would ask for it again or if we were done. Thanksgiving came and went, and in the busyness of the holiday I didn't think much about it.

When 2 weeks had gone by with no nursing, I accepted the fact that nursing, for us, was a thing of the past. One night as we snuggled together in the recliner (our nursing chair), you reached up and gently touched my breast. I looked down at you and when we made eye contact, you said "that's your nursing".

I said "yes", and nodded, and blinked away tears.

You smiled, and leaned your cheek against my chest, and I knew then that you were remembering. For now, the memories haven't left you, though some day they will.

But I won't forget any of it.

I know that I will remember nursing you forever.