Staying the Path
Kathy L. Abbott
Beverly MA, USA
From: NEW BEGINNINGS, Vol. 17 No. 6, November-December 2000, pp. 204-206
We provide articles from our publications from previous years for reference for our Leaders and members. Readers are cautioned to remember that research and medical information change over time.
Like having a child, the
decision to breastfeed is as much an emotional commitment as it is physical.
Nursing a baby requires a total commitment from you the mother. The
demands it places on both body and mind are considerable. The decision
to breastfeed can weigh heavily on mothers. Some women gladly embrace
the commitment, others are more tentative. But how long should one stay
the path?
That was the question I struggled
with while nursing my little Anna Lee. Nursing an infant made sense
to me, but I wondered how long I should continue. Role models were few
and far between. A casual remark from a friend who mentioned she hoped
to nurse exclusively for at least six months became my first guide.
Six months seemed reasonable enough. I would try it.
All went well and before
I knew it, the first six months were over. My husband reminded me that
now it was his turn to feed our little one so we decided he could offer
her solid foods. There seemed no need for me to discontinue nursing.
Unlike the first month of round-the- clock feedings, nursing Anna was
easy now. So why should I stop?
When Anna Lee turned a year
old at the end of October, it seemed like a good time to wean. Birthdays
are very significant so it was easy to feel swayed by an arbitrary number.
Twelve months was a whole year. Shouldn't I stop now? After all, too
much of a good thing is, well, too much. "But how could I stop now?"
I asked myself. She was just learning how to walk. So many bumps and
bruises, so many tears after each little fall. Nursing was still such
a great comfort to her. How could I take that away?
Christmas seemed like another
story. By then, I really felt ready to wean. The stress of the season
was getting to me. I just didn't have time to nurse any more, or so
I thought. The days whizzed by and, to my amazement, by mid-January
I felt comfortable with breastfeeding again. With the holidays behind
me, the thought of weaning just seemed silly. "What got into me?" I
wondered.
After that, we coasted. Nursing
was no big deal any more. In fact, I was beginning to feel a little
proud for having breastfed so long. But then came another October and
Anna Lee's second birthday. Once again, I began to doubt myself. So
did those around me. "She's two years old now. Don't you think that's
long enough?" asked my mother. I bit my lip and continued.
However, the holidays came
again and the stress quickly engulfed me. By December, I was once again
ready to quit. "This is ridiculous!" I told myself "I can't keep doing
this! I have too much to do right now." Then came January and like magic,
all feelings of wanting to wean had disappeared. It was then that I
realized that I seemed to think of weaning as the answer when I was
under stress. When I had many demands to meet all at once, nursing somehow
seemed to be the easiest one to eliminate. Only during the calm following
the storm did I realize that it wasn't the nursing that I wanted rid
of. It was the stress of holiday expectations and preparations that
weighed me down.
By now, the headaches of
the "terrible twos" had begun to rule my life. For us, the biggest battle
was getting Anna into her car seat. Safety was an issue on which I could
not compromise. Anna seemed to relish the feeling of control that came
with refusing to cooperate. She knew that I wouldn't start the car until
she was buckled up. Without her cooperation, running a few simple errands
was a total nightmare. By the time we returned home I would be angry
and exhausted. But by then, it was often naptime and we would lie down
together to nurse. Forgiveness was essential. I found I had to let go
in order for my milk to let down. Those naptime nursings melted away
the anger in both of us, allowing us both to relax and feel close to
each other again. I can't imagine how I would have survived the year
without them.
By the end of the following
summer we were down to just two nursings a day, bedtime and morning
(and, of course, during the occasional long phone call). My schedule
then changed abruptly, and our leisurely mornings together were replaced
by a hurried routine of getting up and out the door. It was taking a
toll on Anna. Our morning nursings were sometimes forgotten in the rush.
Standing by the car one morning, she looked at me sadly. Softly, she
said, "Please nurse." I didn't even bother going back into the house.
Instead, we walked right over to our secluded hammock and lay down together.
Enjoying the warm summer morning, I let her nurse until her heart was
content. She was golden after that. My sunny child had returned!
Another October and another
birthday (her third), but this time there were real signs of wanting
to wean, only these signs came from Anna, not from me. Her language
abilities had really taken off. She was singing and telling stories
and sharing secrets. Nursing was less and less important to her. She
fell asleep without it. More and more, she was just going through the
motions. As the holidays approached once more and all the stress that
goes with that time of year, I once again found myself panicking. Only
this time the thought running around my head was, "How will we ever
make it through the holidays if we can't nurse?" I had finally seen
the handwriting on the wall. Our nursing days were almost over, and
at last I understood the truth. All those times spent nursing hadn't
been an added stress. They had relieved stress, both Anna's and mine.
About this time, I gave some
thought to becoming an LLL Leader. LLL had given me so much support
during those three long years. Maybe it was time to give some in return.
While I lay in bed one night reading THE WOMANLY ART OF BREASTFEEDING,
Anna snuggled in beside me. "Read it," she insisted, "read it!" So,
I began reading aloud about a mother joyously watching her small baby
nurse at her breast with big shining eyes and a smile that seemed to
say, "Thanks Mom." I put the book down, and Anna looked up at me. "Please
nurse!" she said, smiling gleefully. She nursed for a short time and
then, looking at me with the widest of grins, she said, "Thanks, Mom!"
and with that we both fell into giggling so hard that her father came
in to see what all the commotion was about. I knew she would nurse again
after that but for me that wonderful, "Thanks, Mom!" would be the last
word. We were finished.
By March, Anna was completely
weaned. One night just before bedtime, she told us that she was hungry.
I laughed and said to her father, "If only we were still breastfeeding.
That was such an easy way to solve that problem." Immediately Anna cried,
"Breastfeed, I want to breastfeed!" I looked at her in amazement. She
had always said, "Please nurse," not breastfeed.
"That's not what you used
to call it," I told her. "Can you remember what you called it?" I asked.
She couldn't. After three years of nursing, she no longer remembered.
I could hardly believe it!
In April, I told my nurse
practitioner that we had weaned. "Do you miss it?" she asked. "No,"
I told her. "Now I have a little girl who tells jokes, makes up songs,
shares secrets, and tells me her dreams. We have other bonds. And it
was so gradual, I guess we both weaned together." We had followed the
path all the way to the end.
Last updated December 6, 2006 by chj.
Page last edited Sun Oct 14 09:30:07 UTC 2007.
