Needed, Loved, and Appreciated
Lilith McQuoid
Wake Forest NC USA
From: NEW BEGINNINGS, Vol. 21 No. 5, September-October 2004, p. 175
I am a heavily tattooed,
30-something-year-old mother who some have considered rude and obnoxious.
In reality, I am honest. I don't care what people think of me. My son,
Angus, and I have just entered into the fourth year of our nursing relationship
and I have no problems explaining my reasoning for my parenting style,
if asked. But this does not mean I am always confident in myself or
in my parenting skills. Sometimes, I am far from it. But I am confident
in the benefits of breastfeeding.
I use it for everything:
food, comfort, illnesses, sleeping, and "boo-boos." You name
it and my breast can solve my son's problem in some form. Without breastfeeding,
how would I mother him?
At times, however, I have
felt as though I was just a pair of breasts to my son. To make this
thought worse was the idea that without them, my son would not need
me. Maybe I would be thrown to the side and replaced by something or
someone else.
The day before my son's
third birthday, I was feeling this way. My husband and I had been arguing
and I was in the bedroom crying. My son, after watching me for a few
minutes, asked me for "nummies."
I felt crushed and I do not
know exactly why those few innocent words hurt so badly at the time.
I told him no because I needed to be comforted and not to be the comforter.
Later, some of my well-meaning friends suggested that maybe since nursing
comforted him, my son thought it may do the same for me. That is a sweet
idea, but it was more than I could handle at the time.
What made matters worse
was when I said no, he whined for a few minutes, then happily went off
with his father. I sat in the room and cried, feeling even more hurt
than before. Angus and his father went out to eat and to the park. On
their way home, Angus fell asleep in the car. My husband carried him
to his rarely used "big boy" bed without waking him. I felt
alone and sad. My breasts were not as important as I thought they were.
In addition, I was suffering from engorgement while my son slept soundly.
Several hours later, as I
lay awake in bed contemplating my day, Angus woke up and came into my
room. He did not cry or whine, but climbed on the bed and said, "Mommy,
be happy." I promised that I would try. He snuggled in my arms
and fell asleep.
I was afraid that my earlier
refusal to nurse him would result in the end of our nursing relationship.
I didn't want it to end that way. I gently woke him up and asked if
he wanted "nummies." He wholeheartedly agreed and began nursing
before drifting back off to sleep.
It was then that I realized
that breastfeeding made me feel needed, loved, and appreciated. If my
son believed that his nursing could also comfort me, well maybe he was
right. As I lay there with him in my arms, stroking his fine blonde
hair, it came to me that I was much more than "nummies" to
him.
I have helped him learn and
recognize the alphabet, count to 10 in French and English, treated his
case of poison ivy, and have read nursery rhymes to him so often that
he can now recite them back to me perfectly. Breastfeeding has helped
me grow confident in my mothering skills and it has flowed into many
other aspects of my parenting style.
He is still nursing as often
as he did before that bad day, but now I know that this tender time
in our lives will not last forever. Recently, he fell and scraped his
knees. Instead of asking for kisses and "nummies" as he used
to, he asked for kisses and an ice pop. I gave his "boo-boos"
kisses and handed over an ice pop and I knew that I was more than just
a pair of breasts to him.
I still cherish our many
nursing sessions but, at the same time, I'm stocking up on ice pops.
As he grows older and weans, I hope he knows that I will always be here
for him. He may grow too big for my breast, but he can always come and
lay his head on my shoulder.
Last updated Tuesday, October 24, 2006 by njb.
Page last edited Sun Oct 14 09:29:46 UTC 2007.
