Smarter Ardor
  • Blog
  • Smarter Living
  • Homemade Fun
  • About

The Beginning of an End

1/28/2015

6 Comments

 
PictureDeacon, in a milk coma
This is my story as I’m in the midst of weaning my youngest child. Please understand that is all this is—my story. If breastfeeding or conception has been a struggle for you, please know you have my sympathy and prayers for peace, and that I do not take the privileges I have lightly. My uncertainty about what’s next does not negate thankfulness for what has already come.

“The first thing is, you’re never going to feed him at night again. Ever.” I wonder if our wonderful pediatrician noticed my look of panic when he said this. I had asked him about weaning and sleeping through the night and what my first step should be. I wanted his advice. But his use of “never” and “ever” were jarring.

I have always wanted four children. The oldest of four married to the youngest of four, when Daniel and I talked about how many children we wanted to have, that’s what we (both) always said. Then we had one child, it rocked our world and tiny city rowhome, and we decided to take it one at a time.

Last year, when we welcomed our third child, our son Deacon, the physical circumstances were easier. We lived in a house with ample space, whereas before we were cramped. I stayed home with the kids, whereas before I was working at least one full time job.  We had some breathing room financially, whereas before we were pinching pennies to cover a too-high mortgage and dig out of debt.  It should have been easier, we thought. But adjusting to being a family of five, as I’ve said over and over, has been a challenge. In retrospect, as I watch this funny, affectionate, precious little boy toddle around, sometimes the past year feels like one long night.

PictureMirabella, our first baby
I struggled to nurse my other two babies while I worked, making it to just shy of six months with the first, and to just shy of one year with the second, fighting and pumping and supplementing along the way. This time, with Deacon, has been a different sort of struggle. We were always together, so it wasn’t that, but I fought tongue tie and a missed diagnosis, recurring plugged ducts, dairy sensitivity (his, and then mine), and a lot of unexplained pain.

One day, around seven months in, I realized it didn’t hurt anymore. It had become easy, like it was always “supposed” to be. I congratulated myself for fighting through it, for fighting for it.

I always knew I would try to breastfeed, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have conflicted feelings about it. I wasn’t prepared for the way it seemed to bind me to the clock, the first time, or to the baby third time; I couldn’t have known how it would feel to be openly judged while nursing, even discreetly, in public. I didn’t know about the silent solidarity I’d feel with other nursing moms, but least of all, I wasn’t prepared for the emotional connection it would give me to my baby. Of course I still felt it when I stopped nursing the other two as well. Of course I’d be connected either way. {Again, this is a story of my experience with breastfeeding, not why everyone should have one. I don’t know what the right way for you to feed your baby is. It hasn’t even always been clear to me what was right for me, and that’s what we’re talking about here.}

PictureEmerie, our second little monster
There is something comforting about having the silver bullet of breastfeeding—it’s the power of knowing I always have a way to calm and soothe my child. There’s something about the way he looks at me, the way he casually reaches up to stroke my face. I didn’t expect to feel it, and I can’t describe it. He needs me, but it’s not only that. 

As I write this, at ten til 6:00, he complains in his crib. I am letting him fuss until 6:00, helping him adjust to a more “normal” wake up time (he had previously been programmed for about 5:00). We are finally making it (just about) 11-12 hours with only minimal fussing here and there. Our pediatrician tells me this step—night weaning—is the first step toward general weaning. And I’m ready but not ready.

Something about having a boy when you already have girls or maybe about having a third, or maybe just about living in  our culture right now seems to compel people—literal strangers—to comment on my reproductive plans. When I was pregnant and out in the world with my two little girls, it was, “ You have  your hands full. I hope that’s a boy in there,” (gesturing toward my belly). And then, “Good. Are you done?” Then he was born, and as I wore him close to my chest and held two little hands, again, “Is that a boy? Are you done?” And still, now, all the time. Always I give a forced smile and some version of, “I don’t know yet,” or “My husband says yes, I say we’ll see.”

Of course my real (if unspoken) answer is, “Have we met?” In what world is it okay to ask a stranger about her reproductive choices? I’m not sure why my having more than two children is anyone’s business. I’m not asking for help raising them.  Yet these are things people say.

So we’ve had plenty of opportunities to talk through whether this is it, and here is where we land. Daniel feels strongly that, biologically speaking, our family is complete. He feels at peace. And I don’t know whether we’re done or not done, but I know I don’t feel at peace with the idea yet. I have polled mothers whose season of babies is in the rearview. I wanted to know how they knew. Most of them, but not all, tell me the time came when they did. A few tell me, even though they have moved past that season, they still don’t have the peace I seek. 

PicturePhoto credit: Sara Beth Roberts
This matters because I have tried to be aware— through this pregnancy, through this birth, through these extended sleepless nights, through this babyhood, through this nursing experience—that this might be the last time. I have resolved to treat it as if it were. This intentional attitude reminded me to see wonder through pain, fleeting joy through exhaustion, the beautiful miracle of nursing that I can’t manage to capture in words, because it might never be again.  So I closed my eyes with hands on my belly before he was born and tried to memorialize the way it felt—the feeling of life within that I may not feel again. I study his changing face every day, as he transitions too quickly from baby to boy. And I stare at him now as he nurses, less frequently than before. His toddler body sprawled across my lap, his hands reaching for the hollow of my neck, his smiling eyes locked on mine. I’m painfully aware he won’t sit and let me hold him this long when this is over. And I’m crying as I write this, because it’s almost over.

Daniel is excited for us to spend our first night away since Deacon was born. He’s booked a gorgeous suite at an amazing bed and breakfast in Asheville in mid March. There will be couples massages. He can’t wait and, mostly, neither can I. It’s just that it’s on the other side of weaning this little boy. This baby who may well be my last. 


We face our next phase with uncertainty, anticipation and joy. But for me, it’s not without a distinct sense of the end of something beautiful, something good. 

6 Comments
Heather
1/28/2015 02:06:16 am

I can't comment on any of the parental parts of this post, although, as always, they are beautiful and enlightening to read. What struck a cord with me his how strangers (and even those more familiar) feel it is their right, and their place to comment on my family. My comments are always more like "What are you waiting for? You dont have kids yet? But you ARE going to aren't you? If I reply with any uncertainty or 'we're just waiting till we're ready' I get the constant, "Don't you trust GOD?" or "You're never really READY!"... all words full of such judgement. It makes me cringe. every time.

Reply
Christina link
1/28/2015 05:27:41 am

I can only imagine the comments and questions, Heather. I have probably done it before, and it was probably well intended but I try not to do it anymore (and definitely not to strangers)!

Reply
Heather
1/28/2015 11:00:26 am

Christina, I'm sure we have all been on the making comments side at some point. I know I have too. I'm thankful for a friend who loved me enough to call me out on it. And I learned from it. Although I'm pretty sure I never said them to a complete stranger. *shudder* thanks for once again letting your readers inside.

Elizabeth
1/28/2015 02:27:22 pm

Christina, I am in this boat with you. I'm not at peace with two. I was one of three, the middle child, and I have the blessing to know what it is like to have a brother and a sister. I want that for my kids. But at what cost to me, my health, my sanity? I know that I dreamt of breastfeeding for months after both my kids were weaned. It is definitely hard to describe. It is definitely one of those "you had to be there" things. I still miss it.

But lately, as I read a lot of "don't miss a thing" messages, I also feel that we do ourselves a disservice romanticizing it. As amazing as these little ones are, can you imagine what amazing people they are becoming?! They are always going to be a wonderful mix of blessings and challenges. THAT won't change. That is what I focus on, the enduring wonder of these little people we are blessed to create and nourish and teach. When I think I'm sad about them getting older, I focus on the next amazing thing! Maybe it's a trick, but sometimes it helps.

(Husband is listening to military band music in the background. It's now playing Taps. How fitting. Cue the tears!)

Reply
Christina link
1/29/2015 07:20:58 am

So beautifully said, Elizabeth. I was just talking with a friend last night who is ahead of me by one kid and three years. She told stories of all the fun outings and conversations and moments she's having with her bigger kids. I asked her to keep the stories coming to lessen the sting of losing my babies!

Reply
Stephanie
1/29/2015 02:12:31 pm

It makes my heart ache and smile as I read this. We are at the end if breast feeding and I don't know if we will have more biologically. So grateful for what was and is but still miss yestarday while loving today. Hard to explain but it's a feeling I've had since my first was born.

Reply



Leave a Reply.

    RSS Feed

    Picture

    About Me

    Christina | Virginia Beach
    Psuedo Yankee, city-loving former working mom of four finds herself home with the kids and transplanted to the somewhat Southern suburbs. Finding her feet while still attempting to harness the power of the passion of her youth for useful good.

    Picture

    RSS Feed

    Archives

    March 2020
    February 2020
    March 2019
    January 2019
    August 2018
    April 2018
    November 2017
    July 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    February 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    March 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    August 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    May 2011
    April 2011
    March 2011

    Categories

    All
    Anklebiter Anecdotes
    Bendetto
    Careful Feeding
    Charm City
    Complicated Joys
    Family Affairs
    Family Conference
    Festival Of Estrogen
    Grace For Moms
    Help Yourself
    Inanity & Insanity
    Looking Up
    Making It Home
    Mothering Missteps
    Moving Onward
    Music City
    Part Time Lover
    Part-time Lover
    Part-time Lover
    Soapbox
    Stumblings
    Su Casa
    The Village
    This City Life
    Wanderings
    Wifedom
    Worklife

    Links

    Grace for Moms

    MOPS International's Blog

    Amber Hudler

    Smarter Ardor.
    Copyright © 2011-2018.
    All Rights Reserved.
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.
Photos from lungstruck, Orin Zebest, yaquina, warrenski, Jing a Ling, The Shopping Sherpa, Sir, Rony, orangeacid, adrianvfloyd, SierraTierra, benjaflynn, Homeandgardners, eye's eye, katerha, LivingOS, wolfB1958, andyarthur, Jeremiah Ro, alextorrenegra, ShironekoEuro, mabahamo, iMorpheus, openuser, kamshots, nickHiebert, VinothChandar, Yashna M, mike138, Dougtone, cogdogblog, x1klima