the end of nursing

I have been meaning to write for a while to talk about nursing.

First off, I miss it.  It was a beautiful experience for me.

Don't get me wrong.  It was hard, it was very messy at the beginning, it hurt, it was weird to always have to dress with nursing in mind, it was annoying that I had such large breasts and had to wear a nursing bra all the time, etc.  There were definitely days when I hated that pump with a passion.

But then there were nights when I loved how easy it was to sort-of wake up, nurse my baby, and then go right back to bed without hardly having to open my eyes.  I vividly remember sitting in the comfy rocking chair in M's room, feeling very content, connected to the cycle of life, very womanly, etc.

I loved the hormones.  God how I loved how laid back the hormones made me feel.  That part of breastfeeding really doesn't get anywhere near as much discussion as it should, as I think more women would nurse if they had any idea.

The first 6 weeks were really tough.  I wasn't sure we would make it, but I was determined.  It still kind of hurt at 6 weeks.

The first few months were one adventure-in-breastfeeding after another.

But by 6 months we were pros, mostly.  It felt so freaking right and normal.  It was what we did, such an essential part of our relationship I couldn't fathom ever not nursing.

By 12 months I was thinking that it would be so nice to nurse until she was ready to end on her own, but I knew that wouldn't play out for us.  For one, her day care wouldn't do bottles of breast milk anymore.  At 12 months they do cows milk for breakfast and lunch.  So there was no need to pump anymore.  We went down to just nursing maybe twice a day, first thing in the morning when I brought her back to bed to snooze with me, and always before bedtime or naptime as a way for her to relax.  She would go to bed with someone else and not need to nurse, but if she was with me she'd want to nurse.

And then, logistics of my career became the final straw for our nursing days.  When she was 15 months old, I had to go to the field in Africa for 5 weeks.  I nursed her to sleep the night before I left.  I was so stressed and sad about leaving that she stopped nursing at one point, looked up at me in all seriousness, and made the hand sign for "milk", as I had apparently been so stressed that the milk was not to her liking.

I got on the plane the next morning before she woke up, and that was it.  She never asked to nurse again, and didn't seem to think of it at all while I was gone (as I wasn't there to remind her).  Her daddy wouldn't take her into our bedroom in the morning, and still doesn't if I'm not in town.  And she didn't remember nursing when I got back.  I looked for the signs carefully, kind of wanting her to want to resume.  In fact, I had taken a little hand pump and pumped a few times while I was gone.  That was not easy and totally sucked, but I wanted to have a little milk if M asked for it.

But she never did.

And now I fit into my former bra size, all of my old shirts and dresses.  I wear dresses, which I couldn't do while nursing or pumping.  I can drink lots of caffeine, and eat crappy food and not feel too terribly bad about it.

And it hasn't really changed our relationship.  She still loves to snuggle with me more than anyone else.  We are very physical with each other, very intimate.  We just don't nurse anymore.

It is kind of weird to have my body back all to myself.  I remember saying, when I was pregnant and then when I was nursing, that I was lending my body to little M for a while.  And that was exactly what it was like.  I kinda miss it, and then again, I kind of like being all to myself.  I feel very lucky to have gotten to have had that experience, and that it was so positive.  I really feel for the women who have a rough go at it.