WARNING…this is about breastfeeding and if you aren’t comfortable with that subject or my breasts then you might not want to read this.
I feel like I’m a recovering addict or something. It’s been two weeks and two days since the last time I nursed Amelia. All along I thought I’d have that ‘one last’ nursing session where I’d sit and stare at my baby and cry. I’d reminisce about the time we shared and mourn the time we’d lose by no longer nursing. It didn’t happen that way. It was a very busy day; we went to workout, ran errands, picked Daddy up at work and skipped that nursing session and before we knew it it was dinner time. I guess I kinda feel like I cheated myself out of that ‘one last’ session, but at the same time I know she was ready and I’m grateful it happened the way it did. At that point she was only nursing once a day on one side and only for 5 minutes. The world is so big and so full of things to see and do and hanging out with mommy just wasn’t at the top of her to-do list anymore. I am grateful she weaned, that she did it on her own. She was more ready than I was.
Breastfeeding is a hard thing to explain. If you’ve never done it than you probably can’t understand. No offense, seriously. It takes everything you have at times. Some women are born to do it, I was not really one of them. I never thought about breastfeeding until I got pregnant and the all too often asked question “are you going to breastfeed” came up. I set out to breastfeed for 2 months…how hard could it be after all? My body was supposed to to it, right? I figured if I made it to two months then that was a good start for my baby, that was enough.
When I started breastfeeding the pain was so excruciating that I thought “forget two months, I’ll take two weeks at this point.” The pain subsided after two weeks and we hit a rhythm…nursing every hour and a half, fun times. It was exhausting, but rewarding. I watched my 6lb 1.6oz baby grow in giant leaps gaining a little over 3 lbs in her first month alone. I realized when Amelia was about 6 weeks old that my body, this body I cursed and hated so often growing up, my breasts I always thought were too big and not perky enough, this imperfect body grew this amazing little being and is helping her thrive. I realized at that point I was wrong. Breastfeeding was for me, I was born to do it.
I never, ever in my wildest dreams thought that I become so passionate about breastfeeding. Is it for everyone? No way. Is it for me? Heck yes. I feel like it was the best thing I could have done for my daughter, yes, my daughter. I don’t look down on anyone for bottle feeding. I didn’t really have that option – not without starving my child for a few days first (darn stubbornness). It’s each mom’s choice how they feed their child and as long as it works for their family dynamic then that’s perfect.
I was criticized and made to feel like I was doing something wrong on many, many occasions for breastfeeding my daughter. They probably didn’t know that asking me “are you still breastfeeding?” was hurtful, but it was. The question was asked not in a curious tone, but in one of morbid curiosity, as though I was traumatizing my daughter by continuing to give her the best start I could give her. Honestly, if she was still interested in nursing I’d still nurse her. Would I nurse her to 8 like the British chic on 20/20, no way. Would I nurse her to 2, maybe. 18 months, in a heartbeat. It’s not how it happened though, it wasn’t my place or anyone other than Amelia’s to decided when she was finished.
I proudly breastfed Amelia for 1 year, 3 weeks and 5 days. I gave her so much during that time; my antibodies, my nourishment and my time. My skin and my hair to caress and calm her, my eyes to gaze into and my beating heart to soothe her. I gave her my all for 1 year, 3 weeks and 5 days. I will continue to give her my all every day for the rest of my life.
