The Hyphen House

I heard very few weaning stories before it was time for Dash and I to finish our nursing relationship. More would have been helpful, so here's mine.

I hoped to breastfeed for two years (or longer), given the research I had done about the health and psychological benefits for both of us. I also said I would breastfeed for as long as it was good for both of us, even if that didn't meet my timeframe.

After I got through the first three months of feeding, breastfeeding honestly didn't feel like a chore. We had an incredible bond, my husband was incredibly supportive and (bonus) I ate whatever I wanted and lost weight. As I was on maternity leave for a year (thanks, England!), she was with me all the time and bf on demand made her disdain for bottle easier to cope with. I was lucky and had few issues (an early tongue tie, mastitis once) and even though she fed every few hours day and night it was such a part of the rhythm of my life that I didn't mind so much. Of course, I had my moments/days of wanting to stop immediately because I felt she was sucking the life out of me, but those were few and far between.

At ten months, I was over night feeding and we did Jay Gordon's gentle night weaning program which worked well for us. I occasionally fed her during the night (especially during times of teething or travel), but for the most part, continued to nurse D throughout the day whenever she asked.

Around 14 months, I dropped to three feeds per day - morning, afternoon and night. This was good for my part-time teaching schedule and made me feel more freedom. Again, this wasn't a hard and fast rule, but a general pattern. I also stopped feeding from the right side as my milk supply had basically dried up and she always preferred the left anyway.

Around 18 months, she started going to sleep on her own. Although she didn't need me to feed her to sleep since about a year, I did much of the time because it was easy and special. But she suddenly started sleeping better and began to enjoy a little time on her own before sleep at night. She slept longer stretches (which made me feel great because I had heard from soooo many people that breastfed babies don't sleep well and weaning them is what changes that). All of this occurred as the natural progression of her independence.

As she was losing interest in breastfeeding and I was losing patience with it, I dropped the afternoon feed and shortly thereafter dropped the morning. At that point, it was clear that we were both ready to end that part of our relationship, but I went back and forth about it.

At 19 months, I planned for my last feed to be the night before our two-week spring break started and my parents arrived for a long visit. I figured this process was going to be harder on me than it was on Dash, so I wanted the extra support of my family and the distraction of a holiday.

I didn't know how insane the hormonal change would make me feel. I got terrible acne (worse than when I was pregnant) and ugly cried on multiple occasions. Emotionally, the grief was so intense that I felt like someone was dying. I was mourning the end of this relationship (with a hefty dose of hormones). I had shared my body with my baby for nearly 10 months of pregnancy and 20 months of breastfeeding. As we don't plan to have another biological baby, I knew this would be my only experience.

The second to last feed was actually the hardest. I don't know why necessarily. Our last time nursing was a Friday, and we spent the whole day together. We went to lunch and shopping (I bought myself a weaning present) and took a cuddle nap. My partner was working that night so we had a quick, sweet (except that she bit me for the first time in ages) feed in the "milk chair" and that was that.

My parents arrived, E and I spent the night away together, and then we all went on a trip. I was happy, my skin was clearing and I had come to terms with the decision to stop breastfeeding. Because I stopped so gradually, I had no pain or soreness.

Dash's grief hadn't caught up to her until Easter Sunday, nearly 10 days after the last feed. She was rather ill and overstimulated and overtired and she reverted. She asked me for milk, lunged for my breast and sobbed when I said that milk was all done. She wouldn't let me even hold her, so I laid on the bed next to her and we both cried ourselves to sleep. It was awful.

I went to my parent's hotel room and climbed in bed next to my mom. She assured me that I was a good mom, I had had a special nursing relationship and there would be other transitions in our mother/daughter relationship that would be much more challenging than this one (like when your daughter moves away to England - not that she's still upset about that :). Dash woke up happy and played with the grandparents while Eric held me as I watched hours of TV, exhausted.

After Easter, all was well. This transition sounds dramatic because it was for me... I know others for whom it's been more smooth and others for whom it's been more painful because it wasn't their choice. I am SO glad I have pictures of Dash feeding at my breast. I recommend all mamas take photos of their babies feeding (breast, bottle, whatever) because it is such a huge and defining part of your life.

Thankfully, Dash still likes to drink her milk in my lap, cuddled in the nursing position (for a few moments anyway). I treasure my nursling.

Several years ago, I told a friend that her husband was a good dad. He was "hands on", really involved, caring, etc. She said thanks, he was. Then she mentioned that no one ever told her that she's a good mom - she does all the things her husband does, but doesn't get recognition because it's what people expect of mothers. Being a product of a society that places supermom expectations on women and very little expectations on men as fathers, I played right into it.

There's a hilarious scene in an episode entitled "Crazy Mom" on the ABC sitcom Blackish that illustrates this further. A dad is late to work because he helps out at his kids' school. He gets praise and a pass. A mom is just a bit later, explains that her kid is sick and it took her forever to get out of the house. She gets the stinkeye.

Now that I'm a mother I see this play out. There have been several times that I've been with Dash all day and stopped by to see Eric at work. He lovingly gives her a cuddle, maybe helps out with something and we part ways. Just about every time, someone will tell what a good dad he is. (He IS a fantastic dad.) I can't think of once in those instances that someone has told me I'm a good mom.

"Mother o' Mine" by Nick Kenrick via Flickr

There's a few issues here.

1) Expectations on women.
I'm not just "doing my job" by looking after Dash. I've made a choice to be her mom and it's often quite difficult. The skill set required is not somehow ingrained in my maternal DNA. The daily steps involved in keeping a tiny human alive and entertained do not happen because I have to be a mom. I'm not performing a role, I'm in a relationship with my child.

2) Expectations on men.
It makes me sad when folks have such low expectations of men as fathers. At least in my circles, dads are quite involved and those that aren't are considered jerks. Are people really that surprised when fathers are happy to see their children or consider nappy changes part of their responsibilities?

3) Affirmation goes a long way.
I'm not fishing for compliments and I get a lot of encouragement - my husband, parents, sister and close friends tell me I'm a good mom often enough. But I told a new mother recently that she's a good mom and she nearly cried. Would it hurt to tell both parents they are a good parent? Being a parent is hard and amazing and a little validation goes a long way.

Does my child come first? My husband? Myself? Yes.

I often hear conflicting advice about care:

"Put on your own oxygen mask first."

"Your child is only young once - pour all your energy into her."

"If your husband doesn't come first, the romance will dwindle and your marriage will decline."

I actually agree with each of these statements. I just happen to think you can do it all. I prefer to think that my family comes first - all three of us at once.

Societally, we are so bad at living holistically. We compartmentalise everything. So it can be a challenge to live this way.

Photo credit: Graham Detonator on flickr

It's really just an extension of our egalitarian relationship. We attempt to operate based on needs and gifts/skills/likes versus role functions. In practical terms, that means that if one of us is working more, the other does more housework. On an emotional level, that means that if one of us is having a particularly difficult time, the other provides more support.

In our family, I constantly adjust the rhythm of who needs what and when. Obviously, Dash is tiny and cannot meet her own needs. But that doesn't mean I have to meet all those needs. She has her dad and a host of loving family and friends. Some days she needs me more than others - during a developmental leap or during illness, for example. Sometimes Eric needs my undivided attention and that means assuring that Dash will be cared for either with good sleep or someone else. And sometimes I need serious self care, which means I need to trust them both in order to give myself some freedom.

Each day is give and take. I have time set aside for just me, just me and Dash, just me and Eric and all three of us. But sometimes the days look much different and we all adjust. Open communication (even Dash has her way of communicating needs!) assures we all get what we need and that everyone comes first.

Questions:
Is she sleeping through the night?
When's her next feed?
Is she good?

These questions are currently the bane of my existence.

Answers:
No.
Whenever she wants.
Of course. Because all babies are good.

When Eric and I discussed how we wanted to pursue parenting, it made the most sense to us to be responsive to our child, create a loving, secure environment, and follow our instincts. We feel this to an even greater extent now that we actually have a baby.

But I underestimated the pressure I'd feel from well-meaning folks about sleep training and feeding schedules. And I definitely didn't realise how most people associate predictable rest and eating patterns with the "goodness" of a baby.

I'm grateful that the NHS encourages breastfeeding on demand and that UK laws protect my right to breastfeed in public. Overall, I feel I've gotten good lactation support here. I babbled on to the health visitor last week about how breastfeeding is going and she finally stopped me to say, "that all sounds perfectly normal. You're doing fine." I've gotten similar feedback from several sources so I just need to relax about it. As my doula described, I'm a twenty-four hour, multimedia entertainment system as far as Dash is concerned. I can offer food, drink, comfort, relief from boredom, security, and bonding with breastfeeding, which is pretty amazing. So I'm not keen to withhold when she asks. And also - she's only eight weeks old.

Maybe some people with babies this small are sleeping through the night, but Dash has never gone more than 4 hours in the night without a feed. This bothered me until recently when I just decided not to care. I used to look at the clock every time she woke up to see how long it had been. Why? Thanks to co-sleeping and a miraculous bamboo overnight cloth diaper, neither one of us has to wake up for more than a few minutes.

She's only going to be a baby for a little while and I don't want to miss a second. Of course I'm fortunate to be on a long maternity leave, but my husband feels the same way and seeks to be mindful of every moment with her.

Better questions to ask new parents include:
What is your favourite thing about parenting?
What surprises you the most about your relationship with your baby?
What have you learned about yourself and/or your partner?
What unique characteristics do you enjoy about your baby?
How can I support you?