Comfort Objects
By Janet King
Orlando FL USA
From: NEW BEGINNINGS, Vol. 20 No. 1, January-February 2003, p. 8
Lately, I've been reading
a lot about comfort objects. Baby magazines offer some very good advice
about them. For example, if your child's object is something that can
be purchased at the store, buy two or three of them so that it can be
quickly replaced in case it gets lost. If your child is in love with
a blanket and won't even give it up for washing, cut it in half so that
one half can be snuggled while the other half is washed. If your child
wants to bring his blanket to school, cut off a corner small enough
to fit in his pocket. The best advice I've seen so far: in case of an
emergency, don't forget to bring your child's comfort object to the
hospital.
After reading that last piece
of advice, I thought about my son's source of comfort. I would never
forget to bring it to the hospital. I could never lose it or accidentally
leave it at Grandma's. It gets a good washing daily. No matter how hectic
my morning or how poorly packed my diaper bag is, I've always got it
with me. I've never had to grope for it in the dark or search the house
for it. I think that you already know what his comfort object is, but
I'll tell you anyway. It's my breast. Either one will do, but he likes
the right one best.
I didn't encourage his choice in comfort objects. In fact, when he was
two weeks old, I tried to give him a pacifier. He sucked on it happily
until he wanted to nurse, then he spit it out and cried. I tried explaining
to him that the pacifier was for those times he needed comfort, but
he just didn't get it. He would suck on the pacifier while he was happy
and content, then insist on the breast when he was hungry, tired, or
just needed comfort.
I decided that it was the
milk that he loved, so I pumped and got some bottles together. I handed
him and the bottles to my mother, confident that he would be happy as
long as he had his delicious milk. Wrong. He wouldn't take more than
an ounce or two even though she tried repeatedly to get him to take
a bottle. Frankly, she was overjoyed at the thought of being able to
feed him herself, and she tried day after day, to no avail. We then
realized that it wasn't my breast milk he was after, but the contact
we shared through breastfeeding.
I breastfeed him whenever
he needs it. Other people think he doesn't need it when he has just
been fed, but I know better. I've breastfed him everywhere, in and out
of the sling. He's breastfed on an airplane, in every restaurant in
town, even in front of my mortified uncles. He's breastfed at the gym,
the park, the table during the Passover Seder, and in my husband's cubicle
at work. And yes, I nurse him in bed at night, too. Whenever he needs
soothing, I am there.
I love the way he feels about
breastfeeding. When he knows it's coming, he claps his hands and giggles.
If I make him wait, he gets mad, then nurses greedily. Sometimes we
play peek-a-boo with his comfort object and he howls with laughter.
On lazy days he likes to breastfeed while relaxing in front of a video.
Now that he is a year old, he is a self-soother, too. At night when
he wakes up and needs soothing, he gropes in the dark until he finds
my breast and latches on himself. In the morning while we are playing
on the floor, he lifts my pajamas and latches on, all by himself. My
husband says that if we hung him upside down by his ankles, he would
latch on and nurse.
Some people say that I am
a human pacifier. Some say it with condescension and I resent that.
I comfort my child when he needs it. I'm not a pacifier, but a comforter.
After all, I am his mother.
Last updated Tuesday, October 24, 2006 by njb.
Page last edited Sun Oct 14 09:30:23 UTC 2007.
