A Desperate Plea

This has been a long week. Charlotte has picked up some new words, and while this is something I usually applaud, I could do without her latest renditions of "No, no, no!" and "Mine!". Granted, the latter I don't think she quite grasps yet. I think it's just mimicry at this point. It's funny because I was just talking to my friend and told her I was glad Charlotte didn't say "mine" yet, and the NEXT DAY. Boom.

She's been challenging, to say the least. She will not sit in her high chair. I cannot physically get her into it without another person. So, I have given up and let her eat at her toddler table, which usually results in me chasing her around with a spoonful of rice or a plate of tofu. I never thought I would let my kid do that. I have always been such a stickler for orderly mealtimes. But, it's one of the battles I've given up, and at least she's eating.

She refuses to sit in her stroller and grocery carts. She wants to be held or walk around. Since it's not always feasible to let her roam, I am breaking my back carrying her all over town. I wish I had been able to afford that Ergo my friend was selling.

But here's my big problem, and the reason I'm writing even though I don't have the time or energy to be entertaining or creative in any way:

I need to wean Charlotte. And for the record, I'm not doing it because I think it's wrong to nurse past this point. I'm not falling victim to any societal pressures or family pressures or anything like that. I just don't think it's so horrible of me to want to sleep through the night without getting up once or twice to nurse. It's been over fifteen months. I'd like to not have to worry about whether I've had too much coffee or wine. I'd like to not have this weird pain pop up once in a while in my left breast when I nurse.

I'm just so tired. And, I feel like Charlotte and I bond more when we're rolling around on the floor, hugging, kissing, and tickling. I have had extreme highs and lows when it comes to my feelings about nursing, but generally, it's never been something I'm particularly attached to. I am mostly still doing it because it's (usually) a surefire way to get her to go to sleep.

The problem is the guilt. I don't know how to do it without feeling really horrible, because despite a few instances where it seemed she was losing interest, Charlotte still wants and expects to be nursed before a nap or bedtime and especially when she wakes in the middle of the night.

We've let her cry before, and it used to work fine. She'd fuss, settle, and go to sleep. Now, though, she screams and screams, and works herself into a frenzy. So, that's not an option anymore. Maybe I'm just weak-willed, but I can't let her scream like that. It's not like it used to be. Now it's...urgent, and I can't do it.

So, what do I do? She only wants to nurse for sleep-inducing comfort, never during active play or while we're out. She takes a pacifier, but isn't satisfied by it when she wants to nurse.

Am I totally screwed? I need some advice! Theoretical, based on experience, a guess...I don't care. Just help me. Please.

ControverSunday(ish): Extended Breastfeeding

I need to start writing these entries as soon as Perpetua posts the topic. I'm pretty sure I am the very last one to write her ControverSunday post this week. I couldn't wait to read them, and they were all really interesting, thoughtful, well-written posts that make me proud to belong to this little circle of bloggers. However, in retrospect, I probably shouldn't have read everyone's post before writing my own because now I'm convinced I have nothing new to add to the conversation, and when you read these excellent entries, you will agree. But, I haven't been able to stop thinking about this topic since Perpetua announced it last week, and I can't tell you how good it feels to finally be sitting down to write it.

Before we get started, I want to once again thank Perpetua for hosting and Accidents for the badge. And go read their posts because they are real live smart people with fascinating things to say on the subject. And be sure to check out the links on Perpetua's page to everyone else who participated. I'd link here, but she has the most current and thorough list, and I don't want to leave anyone out.

So, here we go!

Charlotte will be one whole year old on Wednesday. As of now, we are still nursing. Ask me how much longer we'll be doing it. Go ahead. But, I won't be able to answer you.

See, this is just another example of how becoming a parent made me a liar. Because, prior to having Charlotte, I fell neatly into the "If they're old enough to ask for it, they're too old" category. I also questioned the motives of mothers nursing two and three-year olds, wondering whether they were carrying on due to a need to be needed, an attempt to keep their babies, well, babies, longer than was necessary. And, to be perfectly honest, I still think that is probably true for some people. I KNEW I would not nurse any longer than one year because once it became biologically unnecessary and my baby could drink whole milk, there would be absolutely no point. Plus, it would be creepy.

But, here's what's changed.

I realized how ridiculous it is to say that a child who can walk up to you and demand to nurse is too old because mine was doing that at ten months! Given my former dedication to make it to a year, why would I stop just because she has sturdy legs and a vice grip on my shirt? I thought it would be weird to have a child "ask" to nurse, verbally or otherwise, but I actually find it hilarious and adorable when I sit in the rocker with Charlotte, and she takes her pacifier out of her mouth, hands it to me, and starts pulling at my shirt. So, that's not a reason for me to stop. But, hypothetically, if a mother was creeped out by that, there would be nothing wrong with that. And, once she stops feeling comfortable nursing, she should stop. No questions asked. No judgement.

And as for my claim that some mothers keep nursing because of their own desire to feel needed, I maintain that it's true. But, I have a few (possibly conflicting) thoughts on this. On the one hand, if a child and mother are both enjoying nursing, they certainly should not feel the need to stop at an arbitrary date. There may be a point, however, when motives play into the issue.

In my humble opinion, the health benefits of extended nursing are probably pretty insignificant, unless your baby isn't eating many solids. But, Charlotte's binky isn't fortified with vitamins, and I'm not going to take THAT away from her abruptly because she's a year old, so not everything boils down to nutrition. If a child is comforted by nursing, if mother and baby bond through nursing, if a mother wants a little cuddle time after working outside the home all day, then by all means they should not feel pressured to stop before they are ready.

Unfortunately, I have witnessed some discussions online that make me think some moms might have less than noble intentions. I saw one woman confide in her fellow nursing mothers that she was saddened by her daughter's waning interest in nursing now that she's a toddler. She said she wished her daughter would get more of her nutrition from breast milk because it was an ego boost for her to provide nourishment for her child. Getting a little weird, but okay. THEN! She started wondering if she could do anything about this. Perhaps offer less food? Umm, what? Shouldn't you be encouraging your TODDLER to grow, fostering her independence, not stifling it in an effort to stroke your ego?

I have also seen extended nursing conversations that are all about one-upping each other. It's wonderful to be proud of nursing for two or even three years, because it's hard. And quite a commitment. But, vowing to nurse a child until he is four, without taking into consideration that he might not WANT to, and then bragging about it to like-minded people, is just...weird.

But, you know, to each her own. I might not agree with your reasoning, but that doesn't mean you have to stop what you're doing.

For me, the issue of sexuality has very little to do with this conversation. I have no problem seeing my breasts as dually functioning. When I'm nursing my daughter, they aren't in the least bit sexual. And other times, they are. And that works for me and everyone in my family. So, if I were to see a four-year old nursing in public, I would be disturbed, but not because I see what he or she is doing as being sexual, but just because I think of it as regressive behavior. I would be equally disturbed to see a kindergartener drinking from a bottle or sucking on a pacifier.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe nursing is just like cuddling to those families, and I certainly wouldn't suggest that a child is ever too old for a hug. But, that's my opinion, my comfort level. I fully support your right to nurse as long as you and your child are comfortable. But, like others have suggested in other posts, don't expect an end to the sideways glances if you choose to do it in public. We're just not used to it. And most of us are not comfortable with it. And we don't have to be.

As for me, I am ready to be done. Maybe I have a hard time understanding the need to nurse longer than is "necessary" because I have had such a complicated relationship with it. Breastfeeding has all but taken over my life this past year.

First, there were the newborn days when she was constantly, and I mean CONSTANTLY attached to me. I ate most of my meals on the couch while nursing, occasionally dropping food onto Charlotte's head. I couldn't even have a cup of coffee with a friend without having to negotiate the nursing cover and awkwardly position the baby at the breast while trying to maintain discretion and carry on a conversation. I got used to all this, and it was all pretty normal.

But then came the thrashing, the screaming, the pushing me away in public and in privacy. Then there came the refusal of all silicone nipples and therefore, the end to any hopes I might have had at an evening away. Then came the teeth and the biting. Then came the constant night feedings after we had just got her sleeping through the night.

I'm not saying my experience is any more difficult than anyone else's. And maybe a different (better?) mother could have loved nursing despite all these things. But, I just...didn't.

Right now, I never have to nurse while we're out. Charlotte loves table food, and only needs the breast before bed or a nap. I don't know that I have the fortitude to aggressively wean her right this minute. I might just offer whole milk frequently and stop offering her breast milk, only nursing when she asks. But, eventually I'm going to have to start refusing.

It breaks my heart, but I am so TIRED. I'm tired of clasping and unclasping my nursing bras. Hell, I'm tired of nursing bras. Tired of counting cups of coffee and counting the hours since I had that second glass of wine. Even though these days, it's relatively simple, and I don't have to deal with nursing covers, cluster feedings, or pumping, I just don't think I will be totally at ease until we're done.

I'll miss it. As difficult as this year has been, I will miss her playing with my hair. I'll miss the cuddle time. I'll miss watching her go into a trance and drift off to sleep. No amount of pretty bras, margaritas, and bottomless cups of coffee will replace those things.

But, we have so much more to look forward to! And, who has time to pine for nursing days when you're taking your toddler to the beach for the first time? Not me.

When Boobs Stop Being Sexy

Here’s a fun topic: breastfeeding. Have I lost you already? I promise you, I’m going somewhere with this. Maybe.

Anyway…

The thing is, ever since I had Charlotte, breastfeeding has practically taken over my life. The first few weeks I obsessed about my “supply” and “nipple confusion”. Have you ever talked to a lactation consultant? Picked up a copy of La Leche League’s The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding? It’s terrifying. Giving a baby a pacifier will cause nipple confusion, causing the baby to forget how to nurse, thus sabotaging breastfeeding. If you’re gonna pop one of those in your kid’s mouth, might as well follow it up with a bottle of formula because you have ruined your chances of breastfeeding. RUINED IT! And speaking of bottles of formula, don’t let the nurses give your baby any of that stuff in the hospital because this will ensure that your milk never comes in, or at least that your supply will never be enough to feed your growing baby. RUINED.

I was so smug while I was preparing to breastfeed. I had taken a class, read a book. I was educated. No pacifiers for my daughter, nor would she be sucking down any of that supply-reducing elixir they call formula. It would be easy. Yeah, until it’s 2 A.M. and the baby screams every time she’s taken off my boob and my nipples are cracked and bleeding, and the nurse is like “Do you want me to give her a pacifier?”, and I’m like “Nooooooo, it will RUIN breastfeeding”, and my husband is like “Give her a pacifier you neurotic woman before we all lose our minds”…then it isn’t so easy not to give her a pacifier. So I did. But, at least I turned down the formula! Until my baby was so jaundiced they weren’t going to let me take her home, and her billirubin levels were off the chart, and the doctor hands me a bottle of formula and is like, “Give this to her or you’re leaving the hospital without her”. Then it isn’t so easy to not give her formula. So I did. Well, actually my husband did while I wept uncontrollably, not wanting to watch. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I think formula is poison or anything; it’s just that I had always wanted to breastfeed my babies, and, like I said, I was worried this was the beginning of the end.

Luckily, the formula worked its magic; she pooped out all the billirubin, and we were able to take her home. And, in fact, we gave her small amounts of formula the first week or so while we waited for my milk to come in. It always made me a little nervous, but we only gave her an ounce or so after she had already nursed, and pretty soon, she was being exclusively breastfed. I had heard that beginning to breastfeed was hard, and it was. There were nights when Chris would come home to find me nursing Charlotte and crying. I cried because it hurt when I couldn’t get her to latch on properly. I cried because I felt I wasn’t making enough to satisfy her. I cried because I was afraid she wasn’t pooping enough, wasn’t gaining enough weight. But mostly I cried because I was TIRED.

It did get easier. But, I am still surprised by how much my life is influenced by it. Going too long without nursing her can cause painful engorgement, which is why I have found myself using a breast pump in the parking lot of the Greek theatre before a concert, in the car while my husband drove us to San Francisco, in the family room of a mall, and at the houses of friends. It puts ridiculous restraints on my diet, as everything I enjoy seems to make her gassy or keeps her awake. I have endured the pumping, the breast infection and plugged ducts, the leaky boobs, the sacrifice of that second glass of wine, and the endless nighttime feedings. But, the past month has been particularly difficult.

When I feed Charlotte in public, I use a nursing cover. I don’t do it because of the way society shames the breastfeeding woman; I use it because it’s how I feel comfortable. Well, Charlotte HATES it. She doesn’t want to be covered by a pink drape; she wants to look around, see what’s going on! So, she screams. She screams and pushes herself away from me. In fact, even when I don’t use the cover, like when I feed her in my car, she is more interested in viewing her surroundings than in staring at my chest while she eats. It’s become a huge problem because we go out every single day. And it’s humiliating when people are already staring at you for having the audacity to nurse in a coffee shop, and then the baby screams like you are trying to kill her rather than nourish her. Add to this the fact that she started screaming in the car because I can’t get her to eat enough before we leave for our destination, and I had pretty much had it.

My reaction to all this nonsense can be summed up in two words: I quit.

I quit. I quit. I quit.

I considered weaning. I just thought, “Hey, I’ve given you my body for long enough. Maybe it’s time I got it back to myself”. But, because I wasn’t prepared to do that until she was six months, and because ONE time she took a bottle of expressed milk while sitting on my lap in a restaurant, I thought we could try bottles while we’re out, and that would be a good segue into her taking bottles exclusively. And since I wouldn’t always have expressed breast milk handy, she would get the occasional bottle of formula. Of course, this is not a decision to be made lightly, so I agonized, I talked to my friends, I obsessed, I talked to my husband, I agonized some more. Everyone was incredibly supportive.

Well, it turned out all this agonizing was for nothing, because she causes just as big a scene drinking from a bottle as she does nursing. It’s nice to be fully clothed when she is causing said scene, but it still sucks. She’s just never really taken to the bottle; something I knew about her, but in my naiveté thought she would magically get better at it in order to accommodate my plan. Turns out there is no easy solution to this problem. If there had been, I might have been well on my way to weaning. Then again, maybe not. Because even in the midst of all my breastfeeding angst, every time I started going over the logistics of weaning in my head, I would want to cry. It was really frustrating, but I had somehow really come to enjoy the bonding experience of breastfeeding, something I never thought I would understand.

At the moment, I am happy with my decision to keep nursing my daughter. I may have to cut some outings short, or cancel them all together. I may have to endure the embarrassment of wrestling her onto my boob in our local Starbucks. I may go clinically insane from a prolonged exposure to her constant latch-breaking and whining. But, someday I will have my body back. And I’ll also have the memories of an experience we both enjoyed…sometimes.

Oh. And the day she’s totally weaned? I’m getting TRASHED. Tequila shots, anyone?