When our first son was born, I used to look at him as he was
sleeping, literally willing him to wake up just so I could feed him. I was head over heels in love with him and
breastfeeding only served to make that bond stronger. I loved it.
I loved the whole mental and physiological process of breastfeeding. The feeling of utter relief as engorgement
slowly reduced was only one aspect, the main one though, was a pure and
unadulterated loved up sensation as the feel good hormones were released to aid
relaxation and contentment. Absolute
bliss. For me anyway. Conor had a tiresome habit though of feeding
for hours. My tail bone would hurt so much I resorted to walking or just
standing up to feed him. I learnt with
him that the magical three month transformation was just a myth. Another fabrication of the baby stage. But we got over it and I developed a massive
fondness for crosswords which I would store up to keep for the marathon evening
cluster feeds. There was a little gentle
persuasion used for day time weaning with Conor. But this was met with little or no fuss which
made the transition easier, especially as I was pregnant. Knowing I was going
to be feeding a newborn again was a big incentive to encourage our toddler onto
the next stage in his development. When
our second son came along, I was a tad worried about his potential feeding
habits, given the fine dining custom of his older brother. My fears were unfounded. The sling I invested in gathered dust as this
child proved to be a very quick and efficient feeder almost from the get go. I hardly noticed the six week growth
spurt. A far cry from the 14 hour
feeding session our eldest enjoyed.
Iarla piled on the weight very quickly and continued to do so with very
short feeds. He also loved his grub
which didn’t make much of an impact on his milk feeds either. All babies are different and the contrast
this time round manifested itself not in feeding routines but in sleeping
ones. Iarla didn’t sleep. His frequent wakings quickly sent me into a
downward spiral of depression. As they
say, this too shall pass, and indeed it did.
I was pregnant again and day time weaning was underway. This time I found I could not sit down as it
was a beacon signal for him to feed. He
never seemed to bother when I was standing so I stood a lot. I was six months pregnant when Iarla went to
sleep for the first time without his night time nurse. He was 16 months old, weaned, and for the
first time ever, he slept through the night and has continued to do so ever
since. I wasn’t sure if there was a
connection but I certainly didn’t question it.
I embraced three full and glorious months of sleep before Liam came
along. Liam’s birth was different to the
other boys; he was born via emergency section and for the first time as a
mother, I truly thought breastfeeding may not work out for us. Day two dawned bright and clear, I asked for
that damned morphine drip to be removed from the back of my hand and we got
down to business. We never looked
back. Liam was a combination of the
older boys, he went through his growth spurts and I noticed them but was very
quick to feed. For some reason things
are a little bit hazy during Liam’s very early days. I think this may have had something to do
with a pending house move, changes in the economic climate and quite possibly, largely
due to his being our third child. It
wasn’t new to me anymore and I was getting quite good at this mothering
lark. Liam had a hard time, a very hard
time with teething and I experienced my first ever nursing strike. He refused me for a little more than 24 hours
and a four hourly cocktail of teething medicines barely cut a dent in his
pain. I was at my wits end until he
finally accepted his very first and only bottle of expressed milk. I was still very much engorged but it seemed
his gums were too sore for him to latch on and I simply had to wait until he
decided he was ready to nurse again. One
thing I can definitely remember, however, during Liam’s first six months of
life, is a feeling of tiredness. I loved
breastfeeding, that never changed, but I was starting to feel that the end to
all the stages and phases that are part and parcel of parenthood, would never
come to an end. I was hankering after
some good old fashioned “me time.” I had
immersed myself into mothering my boys and hadn’t bothered to secure some down
time for myself. It made me reluctant to
consider another child even though I knew I wanted one but didn’t know when. I wanted a break from it all but feared that
break would not find its end. I was also
slightly concerned there might be implications from the c section. In the end I decided I was in the deep end
anyway, and I may as well keep going.
Again, Liam was gently encouraged to day time wean and this too, like
his brothers before him, was met with no fuss.
The night time feed was the last to go, and in keeping with family
history, he was also 16 months old and slept the night. I adopt a “don’t offer, don’t refuse”
approach but supply issues, I feel, really played a massive part in the weaning
process. Again, I was 6 months pregnant
and looking forward to the break before the new baby arrived and another stint
of unbroken sleep. That is, once the
numerous bathroom visits and all the tossings and turnings to rearrange a huge
bump were removed from the equation, it was as good a night’s sleep as I had
been getting till then. Brendan came
into the world after a shaky start and once he got down with the business of
being born, breastfeeding proved to be, once again, one of the best decisions I
ever made in relation to my kids.
Brendan loved his sleep and when he was a few months old, he once slept
an entire 16 hours. He was sleeping the
full night when he was two months old.
This was utterly unheard of for me.
Not only that, he enjoyed long naps during the day too. He was so easy and chilled out. Maybe he was using his innate baby wisdom to
suss out the fact he was fourth in the pecking order and had no choice
sometimes but to wait his turn. Call me
cynical but as much as I enjoyed and relished his lengthy slumbers, I didn’t
take them for granted. Things can change
in a heartbeat where small babies are concerned and true to form, he began to
wake at night in order to make up for what he may have been sleeping through
during the day. I didn’t mind too much
as he was very quick about his business and I always enjoyed those cosy,
relaxed night time feeds. It takes a
year, as far as I am concerned, to make a baby, and a year for your body to
recover from that process. It certainly
took me that length of time, perhaps slightly longer to start feeling like
myself again. I admit, I was lazy in the
getting back into shape after each baby, believing that I would be pregnant
again within the year so there was no point.
I am blessed to have always found that to be the case. After Brendan, I felt it really was time to
take myself in hand, whether or not there was going to be another baby. That last pregnancy, certainly the last
trimester, was very hard. I was unfit
and very out of shape. I think this
contributed greatly to that heavy feeling for the next year. That and the baby hormones that were still
coursing through my body. Those cannot
and should not be forgotten or even under estimated. I got busy and embarked on a new health and
exercise regime and pretty soon began to see and feel real results. Then the day arrived when Brendan celebrated
his first birthday and I wasn’t pregnant.
This was a whole new planet for me. I wasn’t sure how to take it. I was in the middle of the “break” I had been
afraid to take previously. It was
decision making time. Brendan was very
much enjoying his food and still fond of his breast milk. He had continued his habit of waking at night
for a feed, sometimes maybe twice. It
was a no brainer for me. As there was no
new baby pending and I was getting very close to the maybe never viewpoint, I
was going to let Brendan take complete and total charge of when he wanted to
wean. When our first son was a baby, 6
years ago now, I remember actively thinking of the day when breastfeeding would
forever stop and how I would feel about it.
I remember feeling a sense of loss.
The end of an era, a real sign that my baby was growing up and away from
me. At the same time, I knew I had loads
of time left, that day was still far far away.
Not as far as I thought. The
child I thought I would nurse for a couple of years took me completely by
surprise and all but dropped every single one of his feeds over a weekend. I never thought I would be facing into a cold
turkey situation. Brendan, our smallest
son, at 15 months old, “went off me” two weeks ago. His day time feeds had been hit and miss for
a while now but he still nursed from both sides before his sometimes two day
time naps and always at his bed time. Plus
he was still waking at night for a quick sup.
It came completely out of the blue that he would decide this wasn’t for
him anymore. I’m still not sure how I
feel about it. He has become quite
social and attempting to walk in the last month. Our house is very loud, busy and active and
as a result I have had to feed him away from his brothers since he was about 4
months old. He is just too curious and
busy at the moment for boob. I have been
replaced with raspberries, slices of apples and sips of water. That first weaning weekend, I abandoned my
“don’t offer, don’t refuse” tactic in an effort to tempt him to nurse. He found himself almost being force fed over
two days in an effort to help me out of a bind. One of extreme discomfort. I didn’t have lumps in my breasts, I had
corners! But instead of objecting with a
wail, he laughed at me, struggled free of my grasp and crawled off at lightning
speed to catch up with his older brothers.
He is happy as Larry and that makes it all the easier. He has just lost all interest. He still loves his cuddles and hugs as much
as he ever did and indeed, I cannot rest myself in a chair without him coming
over to grab the tail of my top to hold as he sucks his thumb. Then he’s clawing at me to climb up into my
lap. The self weaning process began and
ended in under 48 hours. This is what it
feels like. At least this is what it
feels like when the child takes charge and not the mother. Something I am well used to but not in this
respect. I did hope that the night time
feeds would last a little longer but it didn’t work out that way. I think it’s going to take me some time to
get used to it. After 6+ years of
feeding my children this way, it’s an adjustment. Time will tell. He could start walking next week, discover
it’s not all it’s cracked up to be and return to me. He was never one for a comfort feed after a
tumble or a fall. Always satisfied with
a quick hug and a kiss before he was back on the ground and off looking for
more punishment. He’s a tough little
cookie and really finding his own personality at the moment. It’s lovely to see. It’s only the end of one aspect of motherhood
and a part of me (ok a big huge part of me) is thrilled at the reality of more
than one glass of wine every now and again.
I am looking forward to maybe the odd night out and feeling able to stay
longer than midnight. Cinderella always
had to be home, not for the babysitter, but in case the baby woke and wouldn’t
settle without a feed. I am embracing
going shopping for a decent bra or two.
Indeed, buying something that has buttons up the front and down the
back, with zips everywhere and not having to be concerned about how I am going
to “feed him in that!” And last but not least,
maybe now I will effortlessly shed that last half stone (plus some) that has
been stubbornly hanging on. It’s a well-known
fact that some mothers retain an extra layer of fat whilst breastfeeding.
Something about the possibility of a famine and the body having extra fat
stores in order to produce milk in the possibility of such an event. Breastfeeding is not meant to be
complicated and I apologise if my ramblings have hinted at the opposite. It is not the only part of motherhood and
bonds have formed via smaller decisions, but for me, my husband and our family,
it was a foregone conclusion that I would nurse any children that may come
along after Conor, our first born. None of
them remember being breastfed, but hopefully two of them at least will remember
that their little brother was. I
breastfed and I am proud. Damn
proud!
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