Jennifer Black
“We bought you a pie, Mama!” my daughter exclaimed proudly, hubby trailing behind her, as she set the fresh summer peach pie down on the table in front of me, and next to it a fork.
“I want a nipple,” she then declared, as she jumped in my lap and pulled up my shirt. I ate that pie with all the joy in my life while breastfeeding my daughter who gave that pie to me with a beaming smile.
Someone watching from afar is probably annoyed by this scene, I thought. I’ve read all the stories of what people think when they see someone as tall as her breastfeeding. She is two-and-a-half years old, but she wears a size 5T. Most people have no idea she’s still just my little baby. Even so, it should be our choice when we end this road, and we should be celebrated for as long as we can go.
I do not hide when I breastfeed. I make no apologies. Because I have also read all the research about how good it is for us both. As a 45-year-old woman, how many things in life can give me pause on worrying about cancer creeping into me? How many things can give me encouragement that I’m burning extra calories by just being? How many times in a day would she stop to look me in the eyes and caress my skin without this? How many tantrums has she diverted by coming right here to sit? How many ways have I adjusted to her growing up and away from me because I still have this connection which is so fulfilling?
The answers are limitless.
We can have full conversations now this way. I can ask her anything while she’s at the breast, and she will answer yes or no in true and complete honesty.
I can discuss behavior that needs sculpting, by either of us, when she is calm here in my arms, ensuring my words are framed in love, ensuring greater receptiveness.
I can practice stopping in the middle of the wreckage of a busy day, and just be still long enough to feel my breath easing my heartbeat to a calmer place. Imagine passing this same skill to her as the ever-changing world continues to move faster and become more volatile.
She has weaned herself increasingly over time. At her pace. Always when I thought I couldn’t take this many feedings another day.
When she was born, she was what I called a “cluster” feeder. Basically, she never ever ever left my breast. I am fortunate that I loved it, or that could have been very difficult to manage. As her development grew from infancy, to crawling, to standing and cruising, to walking, all complete by 10 months, her need for her “nipple” decreased naturally. But never went away fully.
She still woke me every night at 3 a.m. for a feeding. I didn’t mind. Until my mother died. Then being awake at 3 a.m. with my thoughts became the wrath of my life. I wanted to hide. I wanted this to end. I was becoming an uncomfortable level of mad. So, I sat down with myself and had a chat, as I do when I need to. I refused to let this anger own me. I thought of stopping breastfeeding. I knew that was no solution, just a mirror on the real issue. I decided instead that I would sit down after every 3 a.m. breastfeeding and begin to write the novel I always thought was beyond me. I didn’t even have the heart to make an outline of a story. I just sat and wrote what was in me from the tiniest seed of an idea.
Now it’s about a year and a half since that decision and the novel is almost complete, and she no longer wakes me up in the night, but I still sit here at 3 a.m. to write.
She changed my life. She makes me alive. Again. For the first time.
Without those 3 a.m. sessions, I would still be suffering from the loss of my mother. Instead, I put the pain into art, and that has been my savior. Not to mention, those sessions have given me a bond with my daughter that is unparalleled as I have seen it.
Every runny nose she had as an infant, which called for the hallowed nose sucker, caused her extreme distress, after which I eased her right at my chest.
Every new environment that we have been in has had one familiar thing in it — me —and, therefore, her “nipple.”
She has exceptional language skills for her age, which we believe comes from working her mouth so often.
Her Baba can always take a break from jumping around with her while out and about, as she comes to me to refuel and recalibrate. He is extraordinary at then bouncing around with her to let me have a break.
At 20 months, when we tried out a daycare, she ended up with pneumonia. We were in the emergency room for more hours than I could count. How did I comfort her? Keep her in a small room for that long? That’s right, the nipple.
Right after she turned two, she poured hot water on herself resulting in another trip to the emergency room and a second-degree burn. This one was very hard. The only thing that quelled her screaming was the nipple. The only thing that comforted each bandage change was the nipple. Well, not the only thing. Sometimes there were cookies, definitely.
I wondered what on earth I would do about night feedings when I potty trained her. She simply dropped them on her own. No night accidents ever. This one surprised me.
When we started daycare again at two and a half, she hesitated for only a minute, then she bounced right in. She was ready this time. She weaned herself from the nipple and loves her friends. We still do morning wake-ups, after school specials, and bedtime. Does that sound daunting after all this time? Not to me. Only sometimes do I get antsy, mistaking that my to-do list could ever be more important than this.
Sometimes she comes home from school and says she wants to be my baby. We hop on the couch for snuggles and mountain staring and breastfeeding. I understand it must be hard for her to realize she is growing up. It must be harder for her than me, because at least I can process the emotions of it. This is one way I can show her she will always be my baby.
“Breastfeed as long as you can!” I want to shout to every mother who can. Why can’t this be the incessant, unsolicited advice that everyone inevitably tosses off as they pass you by, instead of “Enjoy it while it lasts; it will fly by!” Actually, if I’m being honest, the best way to stay present enough to enjoy every single moment which makes it last longer, is to keep this gift and treasure it as long as we can both allow it.
There will be more years than I care to think about where she is independent of me, doesn’t need me for bedtime, won’t turn to me when she’s uncomfortable adjusting, will hesitate to answer my questions honestly, won’t sit in my lap for anything.
So, I choose to revel in the fact that she still wants me. I certainly still want her. And breastfeeding is one great way I can keep us together.
Breastfeed as long as you can, if you can! I am with you.
Resources
Please send your story ideas to Amy at [email protected].
Supporting Breastfeeding Families–Today, Tomorrow, Always
Please consider donating to La Leche League USA.
Your gift helps support this blog and the website!
Donations of any amount are gratefully accepted. Thank you!
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Posted: October 24, 2023 by Yael Breimer
Nursing For Two Years And Beyond: Jennifer’s Story
“We bought you a pie, Mama!” my daughter exclaimed proudly, hubby trailing behind her, as she set the fresh summer peach pie down on the table in front of me, and next to it a fork.
“I want a nipple,” she then declared, as she jumped in my lap and pulled up my shirt. I ate that pie with all the joy in my life while breastfeeding my daughter who gave that pie to me with a beaming smile.
Someone watching from afar is probably annoyed by this scene, I thought. I’ve read all the stories of what people think when they see someone as tall as her breastfeeding. She is two-and-a-half years old, but she wears a size 5T. Most people have no idea she’s still just my little baby. Even so, it should be our choice when we end this road, and we should be celebrated for as long as we can go.
I do not hide when I breastfeed. I make no apologies. Because I have also read all the research about how good it is for us both. As a 45-year-old woman, how many things in life can give me pause on worrying about cancer creeping into me? How many things can give me encouragement that I’m burning extra calories by just being? How many times in a day would she stop to look me in the eyes and caress my skin without this? How many tantrums has she diverted by coming right here to sit? How many ways have I adjusted to her growing up and away from me because I still have this connection which is so fulfilling?
The answers are limitless.
We can have full conversations now this way. I can ask her anything while she’s at the breast, and she will answer yes or no in true and complete honesty.
I can discuss behavior that needs sculpting, by either of us, when she is calm here in my arms, ensuring my words are framed in love, ensuring greater receptiveness.
I can practice stopping in the middle of the wreckage of a busy day, and just be still long enough to feel my breath easing my heartbeat to a calmer place. Imagine passing this same skill to her as the ever-changing world continues to move faster and become more volatile.
She has weaned herself increasingly over time. At her pace. Always when I thought I couldn’t take this many feedings another day.
When she was born, she was what I called a “cluster” feeder. Basically, she never ever ever left my breast. I am fortunate that I loved it, or that could have been very difficult to manage. As her development grew from infancy, to crawling, to standing and cruising, to walking, all complete by 10 months, her need for her “nipple” decreased naturally. But never went away fully.
She still woke me every night at 3 a.m. for a feeding. I didn’t mind. Until my mother died. Then being awake at 3 a.m. with my thoughts became the wrath of my life. I wanted to hide. I wanted this to end. I was becoming an uncomfortable level of mad. So, I sat down with myself and had a chat, as I do when I need to. I refused to let this anger own me. I thought of stopping breastfeeding. I knew that was no solution, just a mirror on the real issue. I decided instead that I would sit down after every 3 a.m. breastfeeding and begin to write the novel I always thought was beyond me. I didn’t even have the heart to make an outline of a story. I just sat and wrote what was in me from the tiniest seed of an idea.
Now it’s about a year and a half since that decision and the novel is almost complete, and she no longer wakes me up in the night, but I still sit here at 3 a.m. to write.
She changed my life. She makes me alive. Again. For the first time.
Without those 3 a.m. sessions, I would still be suffering from the loss of my mother. Instead, I put the pain into art, and that has been my savior. Not to mention, those sessions have given me a bond with my daughter that is unparalleled as I have seen it.
Every runny nose she had as an infant, which called for the hallowed nose sucker, caused her extreme distress, after which I eased her right at my chest.
Every new environment that we have been in has had one familiar thing in it — me —and, therefore, her “nipple.”
She has exceptional language skills for her age, which we believe comes from working her mouth so often.
Her Baba can always take a break from jumping around with her while out and about, as she comes to me to refuel and recalibrate. He is extraordinary at then bouncing around with her to let me have a break.
At 20 months, when we tried out a daycare, she ended up with pneumonia. We were in the emergency room for more hours than I could count. How did I comfort her? Keep her in a small room for that long? That’s right, the nipple.
Right after she turned two, she poured hot water on herself resulting in another trip to the emergency room and a second-degree burn. This one was very hard. The only thing that quelled her screaming was the nipple. The only thing that comforted each bandage change was the nipple. Well, not the only thing. Sometimes there were cookies, definitely.
I wondered what on earth I would do about night feedings when I potty trained her. She simply dropped them on her own. No night accidents ever. This one surprised me.
When we started daycare again at two and a half, she hesitated for only a minute, then she bounced right in. She was ready this time. She weaned herself from the nipple and loves her friends. We still do morning wake-ups, after school specials, and bedtime. Does that sound daunting after all this time? Not to me. Only sometimes do I get antsy, mistaking that my to-do list could ever be more important than this.
Sometimes she comes home from school and says she wants to be my baby. We hop on the couch for snuggles and mountain staring and breastfeeding. I understand it must be hard for her to realize she is growing up. It must be harder for her than me, because at least I can process the emotions of it. This is one way I can show her she will always be my baby.
“Breastfeed as long as you can!” I want to shout to every mother who can. Why can’t this be the incessant, unsolicited advice that everyone inevitably tosses off as they pass you by, instead of “Enjoy it while it lasts; it will fly by!” Actually, if I’m being honest, the best way to stay present enough to enjoy every single moment which makes it last longer, is to keep this gift and treasure it as long as we can both allow it.
There will be more years than I care to think about where she is independent of me, doesn’t need me for bedtime, won’t turn to me when she’s uncomfortable adjusting, will hesitate to answer my questions honestly, won’t sit in my lap for anything.
So, I choose to revel in the fact that she still wants me. I certainly still want her. And breastfeeding is one great way I can keep us together.
Breastfeed as long as you can, if you can! I am with you.
Resources
Please send your story ideas to Amy at [email protected].
Supporting Breastfeeding Families–Today, Tomorrow, Always
Please consider donating to La Leche League USA.
Your gift helps support this blog and the website!
Donations of any amount are gratefully accepted. Thank you!
Follow us on:
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Category: Breastfeeding Toddlers, Weaning
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