Lifeline
Kari N. C.
OH USA
From: NEW BEGINNINGS, Vol. 18 No. 3, May-June 2001, p. 92-94
When our first child arrived
four weeks early, I had barely opened the breastfeeding book next to
my bed. As Daniel and I struggled through those first awkward feedings,
I could never have predicted the stages we would pass through in the
next five years.
As an infant, Daniel was
exceptionally needy and intense. He nursed frequently, fiercely, and
at length, and he demanded almost constant holding. If his wants or
needs were not immediately satisfied, he became nearly hysterical. Nothing
but nursing would temper his wildly vacillating moods, comfort and nourish
him when he was sick, or lull him into a tenacious slumber. Nursing
was his lifeline, his postpartum umbilical cord, and I often felt as
if the little one at my breast was permanently attached to me.
At the time, when some friends
insisted I was letting my baby "tie me down" too much, I took solace
in advice and books from LLL, including Dr. William Sears' THE FUSSY
BABY. While society encouraged
us, against our instincts, to wean Daniel from his dependence upon me,
Dr. Sears and my LLL friends reassured us that meeting his loudly proclaimed
needs would not spoil him but give him a deeper sense of security and
love.
Daniel's neediness subsided gradually as he grew into toddlerhood,
but his strong desire to nurse persisted. Breastfeeding continued, almost
magically, to calm the stormy seas of his moods, but it drove us harder
against the cultural current. I became acutely aware that, to some minds,
and rather inexplicably to me, a child's walking and talking were viewed
as antithetical to nursing. Our pediatrician, after acknowledging that
Daniel's growth rate and health were excellent, strongly advised weaning.
"Go away for a week or two and leave him with someone else, " she insisted,
providing no real reason for the weaning. "It will bother you more than
it bothers him." I knew my child well enough to recognize that this
would not be the case; he cherished and depended on nursing too much.
Again, I found reassurance in information shared with me by LLL, that
nursing beyond age one has multiple health benefits and probably emotional
benefits as well, and I did not attempt to disrupt the intimate bond
we had so lovingly formed.
I did not comfortably don
the role of cultural groundbreaker. While the choices I've made have
worked out pretty well for my family, posing only minor difficulties,
I have found it hard to remain immune to the judgments and misconceptions
of society. In fact, cultural prejudices against nursing older children
and widespread misinformation about nursing have created more problems
for us than the continued nursing.
By the time Daniel turned
two, I felt the need to stop nursing in public places, and I learned
to be selective about the people with whom we shared our "family secret."
I have not minded answering questions of the truly curious ("Doesn't
it hurt when they have teeth?"), but disapproving comments based on
deeper misconceptions ("I don't think I'd even want to remember breastfeeding!")
have been harder to brush off gracefully. Without the support of LLL
and friends committed to breastfeeding, we might have felt less secure
in doing what seemed best, or even necessary, for our particularly spirited
first child.
During the next two years,
medical misunderstandings threatened to end our nursing relationship.
When Daniel was two, a surgeon determined that I needed a breast biopsy
and assumed I must wean him before the surgery. Again, I requested the
counsel of LLL friends and learned that a "partial, temporary weaning"
(weaning temporarily from the affected breast only) was a much less
disruptive solution. That story was told in the pages of HOW WEANING HAPPENS, by Diane Bengson.
Shortly after that, when
we sought treatment for secondary infertility (we had experienced primary
infertility before having Daniel), our family physician told us that
weaning would be our first necessary step. By then Daniel was mostly
"comfort nursing," taking in very little milk. We tried to wean Daniel,
unsuccessfully, but were relieved and delighted when I became pregnant
just a few months later. Finally, while friends and family in the medical
field warned us that nursing during pregnancy would be risky, my obstetrician
and experienced friends assured me that, with proper nutrition and prenatal
care, continuing to breastfeed posed no real threat to a healthy pregnancy.
As the pregnancy progressed
and my milk supply dwindled, Daniel often chose to drink milk from a
cup with a spout and to cuddle instead of nursing. However, he did not
wean. I worried how he would respond after the birth to a nursing rival
and sudden increase in my milk supply. This time I had only one or two
friends (as well as LLL materials) to turn to for advice. I knew of
children who had nursed during pregnancy, but most had chosen to wean
during the last months because the milk became too scarce or tasted
different. Those mothers who had tandem nursed provided mixed responses:
some found the experience generally irritating or tiring, others felt
it was invaluable in minimizing sibling rivalry and helping the children
bond. After our daughter Emma was born, Daniel asked to nurse more often
and showed some distress when his sister got more breastfeeding time,
but it wasn't as difficult as I had feared. And while nursing an infant
and preschooler in unison felt a bit strange at times, it was also one
of the most beautiful experiences I have ever had. Frequently, as our
children shared the special comfort and closeness of tandem nursing,
Daniel would gently and lovingly pat his new sister on the head. People
still comment on how nurturing and protective he is of Emma, and when
we drive, I often catch a glimpse in the rearview mirror of Daniel holding
her tiny hand.
Now that Emma is approaching
age two and Daniel is five (I laugh inside when people are surprised
that she is still nursing), I am glad we have "gone the distance" in
fulfilling Daniel's needs. His spirited side still rears its formidable
head when he is tired, sick, or emotionally overwhelmed; but he remains
a normal and healthy child. He has become more independent, playing
confidently with friends, enjoying solitary play, and sometimes forgetting
to nurse for a day or more. But in those "meltdown" moments, I am confident
that nursing provides a psychologically healthy way for him to reconnect
with me, to relax, and to find contentment. Will my children later be
embarrassed when they remember breastfeeding? Other mothers, as well
as my own intuition, tell me it is highly unlikely. I believe my children
will recall the warm and loving feelings it gave them and will have
a healthier, more enlightened perspective of breastfeeding. If they
have their own children someday, I believe the experience of extended
nursing might even make them more caring and nurturing parents.
We have yet to reach the
final milestone of weaning, and I cannot be certain how it will happen.
We've tried things like promising a party when he weans, or a trip to
an amusement park, but he hasn't taken us up on the offer. My guess
is that, as a friend of mine describes her spirited daughter who weaned
at age five, Daniel will finally decide on his own, according to his
own internal timing, and that decision will be the most binding and
effective for a child with a mind of his own. And who knows, as my friend
believes, perhaps allowing Daniel this kind of self-determination will
reap an additional benefit, encouraging him to be less concerned than
I am about what other people think, and to feel less pressure to conform
to society's expectations.
Last updated November 13, 2006 by njb.
Page last edited Sun Oct 14 09:29:37 UTC 2007.
