I Am Grieving, Rejoicing...

photo by Kristen Cannegieter

Today's post written by Chrysula.

I am grieving. I am rejoicing. I feel loss. I feel relief. 

My youngest and last child weaned himself a few days ago. I have four children and have nursed all of them. In fact, I’ve either been pregnant or nursing for the last eight years. It has generally been easy for me. My body worked as it was meant to most of the time, allowing me generous supply and minimal infections or interruptions.

My first child, a daughter took her sweet time - at least twenty minutes per side. We both nearly always fell asleep, me usually sitting up, waking with an almighty crick in my neck. I went back to work full time when she was four months old and pumped as long as I could. I got her to nine months before my supply gave out. The pumping just wasn’t as effective as she was. But I was pleased with my efforts. The battle for a private space in my all glass open plan office is the story of another post. Suffice to say I fought a good fight and my openness and insistence on speaking about my breast requirements to our all-male leadership team helped others follow suit. 

My second daughter was the Queen of Efficiency. Fast and furious, she could empty a breast in under five minutes. I again went back to work when she was four months old but resigned a couple of months later. She was a dream to nurse and we went to fifteen months before the unique bond that is breastfeeding was broken in a very gradual and easy fashion. We were both ready. 

My first son, after some early but mild mastitis, was also a Master nurser. As the number of children increased, my quiet time with the baby lessened. Nursing was a pivotal way to carve out time with my little one that was just ours. Never one to particularly enjoy those “in the quiet of the night” moments with my baby because I was usually so bleary eyed and hungry for sleep, I did find the odd moment of midnight stillness to appreciate the gift I’d been given. At ten months he went on a sudden nursing strike. After three swollen and frustrating weeks, he took a bottle and was weaned. 

And finally my youngest son. Our early time together was the easiest yet. Nursing was simple and at a good pace. With this being my fourth child, nursing really was one of the few times of day and night that I could be exclusively with him. But the last three months have been painfully difficult. He took to biting down hard at every nursing session and in the last few weeks drew blood on multiple occasions. He would laugh when I cried out, thinking it was a new game. When I gently flicked his cheek, he stopped biting for a couple of weeks, but then it started again and the flick only worked that one time. I’d tried bottles and formula in the past to ease the way for babysitting but he was the first of my children to emphatically and without exception refuse them.

I persisted with nursing. I talked about weaning for weeks, but just couldn’t bear the thought of weaning him in anger and frustration, knowing this was something I would never do again. The biting got worse and finally ten days ago, the pain was unbearable from bruising and breaks in my skin.

I tried the bottle once more, and “bingo”. He drowned eight ounces in record time. Clearly he’d been trying to tell me something. He nursed a couple of times over the next two days. Then nursed only at night for two more evenings. The next night, almost a week ago, he refused completely. That was that. It was done.

I am grieving because there will be no more babies. And no more babies lives being sustained from my body. I am rejoicing because I can leave him with a babysitter and not be traumatized that he won’t drink anything or cry himself to sleep without comfort. I feel loss at the sudden removal of this bond between my child and myself; our intimate physical connection gone.

I feel relief that I am no longer in pain, that my body is my own again, that my husband and others can share more in his care, that I am one step closer to some of my personal goals and dreams being fulfilled as my children gently stretch towards independence.

But it is a bittersweet time.

Will you share your story or reflections on nursing or bottle feeding your child? Remember, at the Nest, it’s a no guilt kind of place.



Love to the moon and back

(C) Copyright Chrysula Winegar

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