My mom breastfed me for two months, then went back to work. I was bottle fed formula and didn’t even know it until after I had a child of my own. I had no anchor to get advice from, no tried and true maternal voice to guide me through these struggles. Yet here I was, surrounded with good vibes and endless support.
In the first weeks of becoming a mother, I had been ashamed of my breasts and how hard the first few weeks were. I used a cover or tried to breastfeed upstairs in my bedroom with the door shut. After realizing that feeding my newborn calmed her down, soothed her cry, and got her to that milk-drunk happy sleep, I began to feel empowered and confident. My husband had taken a new job and was gone during the week, so while I had a lot of anxiety trying to care for this life by myself, I also was able to exclusively breastfeed and since I was home, we never ended up using a bottle. I did a fair share of pumping and freezing my milk, but it just sat in the freezer with no intended future use.
I never got righteous with breastfeeding, never was asked to cover up or gawked at for nursing in public, but I still learned to not be ashamed anymore. I was open and willing to nurse Teya whenever the need arose, and I have a few great pictures of her snuggled up against me at the top of mountains, camping in the wilderness, and in the parking lot of Target. I didn’t shy away from letting her lead the way either, which led to co-sleeping and bedsharing and an entirely new process of parenting that I had no idea I would be so keen to follow. It was new to my husband as well, and his openness had made everything a lot easier.
I let her wean at her own pace, and she eventually only nursed to go to sleep, which put me in an entirely new predicament because I didn’t know how to get her to nap or go to bed unless she was breastfeeding. For some reason, my right breast had less milk than my left, so I found myself lopsided and left-side heavy, (because supply and demand of course), and my body was just fatigued, mentally and physically. But, it worked for both of us so we charged on. Our routine was steady, whether we were traveling to see relatives or taking vacations, and it was beautiful. Our family successfully normalized breastfeeding. My husband, my stepsons, my daughter, and especially myself; we all learned so much from this experience.
On St. Patrick’s Day of 2016, my little wuppet had her last nursing session, ending over two and a half years of being consoled, fed, and bonded at my breast. She wanted to be a big girl, she wanted to go to school, she was simply growing up.