I don’t blame other mothers for not breastfeeding. Sometimes, for whatever reason, it just doesn’t work. I was lucky to be able to breastfeed my daughter. But after she was born via cesarean, my milk took it's time coming in. I stayed the course, and after a long three days of pumping air and dry feeding my daughter, my milk came in. FINALLY.
The angels swept down and sang a chorus of Hallelujah.
We were in business. She didn’t have much of an issue latching on- girlfriend loved to eat. My supply met her demand, and the months rolled on. We made it through the first year together, and for the most part, she was incredibly content.
She was a momma’s girl too. She loved playing peekaboo with her dad and romping around with her grandparents but she always needed to be near her momma. I was her comfort, her safe place. However, I gradually started to realize, maybe it wasn’t me she was so crazy about.
With mobility came new scratches and bruises and the inevitable cry to mom when she acquired either. She would predictably nestle her head in my bosom, and boo boo (yes, boo boo) would save the day. I breastfed her after shots at the doctor’s office, when she was feeling tired after a long day, and of course during her six mealtimes too.
She was a milkaholic, and I was her all-you-can-drink wet bar.
I knew we couldn’t stay on this course. Being in public was difficult. Sometimes she would pull down my shirt down while I was holding her. Oh and the teeth. I was suffering abuse at the hand (teeth) of a 15 month-old. My boobs were screaming “save me while I still have nipple sensation!!!” I knew it was time, and boy was she going to resent me for it.
I felt guilty just thinking about weaning her. I set goals and timelines to begin weaning and then I watched them pass right by. I just couldn’t pull the trigger. Looking back, it’s as if I wanted to continue the feedings as much as she did. Was I the one relying on breastfeeding as emotional support? The sores on my breasts told me yes. They became more frequent (and disgusting), and finally my husband intervened. He had watched me beat myself up for months about weaning her, and he finally called me out. We all knew it was time.
We slowly decreased our amount of feedings until one weekend after a two-day long girls trip, I decided there would be no more. And to my surprise, she never missed a beat. In fact, what happened in the weeks to follow baffled me: we became closer. We had exchanged the bond that had kept us so close in the infant months for a new, stronger relationship. Stronger because she wasn’t using me for my boobs. Suddenly she wanted to give me kisses, cuddles, and hugs, with no expectation of boo boo. No quid pro quo necessary. She was loving me without the distraction of breastfeeding.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed this new phase of loveliness. After she was off the breast, she immediately began gravitating toward my husband. She loved it when he fed her sweet potatoes and rocked her to sleep. He could walk into a room and she would throw her hands up, and beg for him to hold her. This rarely happened before we weaned. And why would it? He didn’t have the milk jugs.
Her relationships were now becoming more meaningful, and her cuddles more genuine.
Just a few weeks post weaning, I knew the truth: For us, life was better on the other side of breastfeeding. I’m thankful for being able to breastfeed her in the first several months of her life, and I’m thankful for the bond it created. But, now I’m thankful it’s over. We simply outgrew it. Now our relationship is built on something much stronger than the principles of supply and demand- it’s built on love. And my “boo boos” are rejoicing.
