The Important Things In Life
Elizabeth A. Lang
Lexington KY USA
From: NEW BEGINNINGS, Vol. 21 No. 1, January-February 2004, pp. 11
My 16-month-old daughter
Sophia's first words were "mama," "no," "dada,"
and "ooby," in that order. These are the most important things
in her life. Her mommy, her ability to refuse, her daddy, and my breasts.
I was really hoping that
she would learn to say "nurse," or some variation of that.
But now we have the request for "ooby" when she wants to nurse.
Whether at home or in public, the demand for "ooby" is accompanied
by the lifting of my shirt, which erases all doubts anyone might have
about exactly what she wants.
I remember trying to put
my nipple into her mouth so that she would latch-on properly soon after
she was born. I never imagined she'd be the nursing fiend she is today.
The nurse who helped me breastfeed my daughter in the hospital told
me that Sophia had a strong suck. She rooted like a champ and latched
on like a barracuda. She took to nursing quickly, asking to nurse in
little clusters all day for her first few days. Her pediatrician told
me that she was using me as a pacifier, as if that were a bad thing.
Despite the frequent nursing,
my milk didn't fully come in until about her fifth day of life. When
the milk arrived, it was plentiful. Sophia gained over a pound during
her first two weeks. Her pediatrician said that she looked plump and
healthy and he wished that all mothers would breastfeed their babies.
I eagerly awaited her next
doctor's visit, and was overjoyed to be told once again that she was
thriving. Of course, I could see that with my own eyes, but I desperately
wanted expert confirmation that my eyes were not deceiving me.
There were several things
that contributed to my uneasiness during her early months. First, Sophia
was a spitter. She spit up a lot. Every day. All day. It was a laundry
nightmare. Second, the only other breastfeeding mother I knew was my
sister-in-law, who lived 400 miles away. Third, I was a new mother in
a new town where I didn't know a whole lot of folks, which left me feeling
isolated.
Luckily, I had attended a
La Leche League meeting two months before Sophia was born. I knew that
I planned to breastfeed my baby, and wanted to ask some questions of
women who were already doing it. I went to another meeting when Sophia
was about seven weeks old and was greatly relieved to find that my fears
were eased by the women I met.
Once I had the names and
phone numbers of the Leaders, I called them a lot. I called when I realized
that breastfeeding, while natural, was certainly not easy for me. The
Leader said to hang on because it would get easier. I hung on, and during
the eighth week, I suddenly realized that it was, in fact, much easier.
I called my Leader when Sophia
vomited for the first and second times because it looked like a lot
and seemed to travel pretty far. I had read enough to know that some
babies have a serious condition that results in projectile vomiting
and requires surgery to correct. For a brief period of postpartum insanity,
I was sure that Sophia was one of those babies destined for the operating
room. My Leader told me that occasional vomiting wasn't uncommon. I
calmed down, and Sophia was fine.
When my breast started to
ache and turned rock hard on one side, of course I called my Leader.
Just my first plugged duct, she explained, and the recommended hot bath
got the plug out immediately.
The nurse at the hospital
taught me how to keep a nursing log that noted what time Sophia started
nursing and how long each session lasted. By Sophia's third month, I
realized that she was only nursing for five minutes at a time. Despite
her beautiful growth and development, I was certain that she would starve.
My Leader assured me that some babies become such expert nurslings and
they get everything they need in five minutes. She helped me relax enough
to stop keeping the log, which provided a wonderful sense of freedom.
As time passed, breastfeeding
not only got easier, it came to be a source of joy. I have nursed Sophia
in cars, in stores, in a hotel lobby, at a highway rest stop, in the
park, and on an airplane. We've never worried about (or spent money
on) bottles or formula or any of the other trappings that come with
"non-momma" milk. Sophia has only had one ear infection in
her 16 months, and her pediatrician believes that it's because she's
breastfed. I also like to think about how I'm giving her a few extra
IQ points, too.
I am happy to say that Sophia
is still my little nursling, and she will be until she's ready to wean,
which probably won't be any time soon. She has just started to take
a liking to solid foods. We are learning that she has allergies to dairy,
eggs, and nuts so far. She still nurses several times a day and about
twice at night. My family teases me that I'm going to have to go off
to college with my daughter, who will probably still be nursing when
she's 18! While I look forward to the day that she weans and I can have
my body back, the thought also makes me sad. The bond forged during
nursing is very special-unlike anything else I've ever experienced.
As a result, every day I try to be mindful that she won't nurse forever
and am glad that, right now, I can offer her "ooby," with
love.
Last updated Wednesday, October 11, 2006 by njb.
Page last edited Sun Oct 14 09:29:52 UTC 2007.
