many mundane moments

Free agents

A post all about my boobs. We are done with nursing. At least, I am. Howie still asks several times a day. While we were on vacation I asked him if he wanted to nurse. His eyes lit up and he said, "Yeah, nurse!" like it was just hitting him that there was an actual word for his most favored past time and that he could ask for it with out grunting and gesturing and doing a sign he made up that had an accompanying noise and resembled something we did as children while pretending we were indians. Great, just in time for me to cut him off, he learned a word that strangers in public will know is associated with my breasts.

When I was pregnant with him, I thought I was being noble in setting my goal for one year. One year of sharing my boobs was more than enough. Babies didn't need bottles or breasts after that age. Somehow, they magically matured and had different needs when the calendar flipped to that special day. Not to mention nursing a child who could speak and interact with you, oh the horror! I revised my limit after he was born and we discovered his food allergies. We approached age 1 with him eating almost no solids and no option on which to wean him. I really didn't mind continuing. He was still more of a baby than I had realized he would be. Plus, it was easy, convenient and he was a huge fan. We'd figured out the dairy/soy free cooking and I was used to avoiding them myself. No, he wasn't sleeping through the night, but he was in our room and it was no problem to whip one out and we'd both immediately drift back to sleep. Then I got pregnant again.

I needed uninterrupted sleep. I needed to eat whatever felt like it was going to stay down, even if that was a slab of cheese. Mostly, my increasingly tender mammaries needed a break. We night weaned and set a goal to be done completely by his second birthday. You may recall the night process took one long and harried week. We've gradually cut back since then and were down to 1-3 feedings a day. I was encouraged in continuing to cut back by the noticible increase in solids he'd eat. Up through this week, he almost always asked first thing in the morning, often at naptime and occasionally at bedtime. He'd ask at other times of the day, but these were the only times I'd consent. As his birthday approached, I revised the goal a bit to the end of the year. I figured we could continue to cut sessions (first bedtime completely and then nap), and I had read that many children self wean between the 4th and 6th months of a subsequent pregnancy due to changes in the type and amount of milk. I was okay giving him one more month to decide on his own that we were done.

It was clear that my supply was decreasing. Likely do in part to our reduced sessions and in part to pregnancy. A few times he went 36-40 hours without nursing and I didn't get engorged at all. I became obsessive in the last weeks checking a few times a day to see if there was still milk and listening intently for how often he swallowed. Unglamorous, I know, but I could deal with that better than the idea of him still breastfeeding when the milk was gone. On Sunday I decided I'd had enough. No more stressing about whether he was actually getting anything to eat, no more impatiently waiting for his morning sessions to be done, no more distracting him and trying to explain "only at home" while we were out. No more.

Monday morning I was a little less determined when he crawled into our bed at 6 o'clock with his sing-songy request, "nurse, mama?!" I offered breakfast right away (which is usually the chaser for the breastmilk), but he declined. Fine, one last day. I do like him, afterall. We did grocery shopping that morning and he started his nap on the way home and he didn't even mention it at bedtime- two more sessions averted. Tuesday morning came with his usual routine and I told him honestly that it was all gone. He seemed a bit skeptical. "nurse, gone?!" like he was saying "no freaking way". He continued to ask throughout the day, even offering to nap at 9 am and again at 4:30. He was getting desperate, but I just kept telling him it was gone.

This morning he crawled into bed asking "Where'd nurse go?" I explained again that it was all gone, throwing in that he had drank it all. "Yeah, all gone," as he rolled over to cuddle up and go back to sleep. I thought that was the end of it until he woke up half an hour later crying and kicking and asking again. Matt took him to the kitchen for breakfast and now we're nearing what will be a true test- naptime at home with only me around. He's pretty good about falling asleep in the car, or if Matt is lying next to him, but he thinks he needs to eat if I'm around. Once we get through that, I'm feeling confident that we'll be done for good.

We were short of age two by a week or two, but I'll probably still claim it in crunchy circles. I may end up getting all nostalgic and sentimental about him growing up and missing that sweet time with him, but for now I'm glad to be done. It's still 5 months to the end of April and I'm looking forward to the break. I can pack away the few nursing tops I own and maybe even dig out my regular bras. Or maybe I'll just leave the bras packed away and extend the liberated feeling to my clothing options as well.

ps, someone found my blog last week by googling "boob addict". I hate to think what kind of searches this entry will bring.

posted by Valarie @ 11:45 AM