Everyday Life: On Again

I'd thought we were done.

He hadn't asked me to nurse in three weeks.

About the time we found out we were pregnant again, he lost interest in nursing.

So I just let it go.

And then, suddenly, I wasn't pregnant anymore.

And he fell and hit his head, probably making more of a mess of my own brain than his.

He asked for milk at the emergency room; I obliged.

And then holy mother load.

His cup overflows.

And we are a nursing duo again.

I'm not sure who is reaping more of the benefits -- him and his immune system or me and my oxytocin-craving brain.

But either way, game on. {Again. Until the game is off. Again. Toddlers are fickle little people, so I'm just going along for the ride with the cutest little bundle of two years old, who I'm sure, again, is helping nurse me back to life.}

Breastfeeding: Bringing Nursing Back

I figured there's no better time to reshare how I became a self-proclaimed lactavist than during the celebration of World Breastfeeding Week. So, here's how I was liberated from hiding in the bathroom while nursing.

Much like spring break tends to liberate even the prudest of college girls, hanging around the senior citizen crowd unleashed a whole new side of me during a recent vacation from snow-covered Chicago to sunny, warm Fort Myers.

Just like those spring break girls, I now am equally unashamed of baring some boob. Of course, though, I'd like to think mine is for a nobler reason than winning a wet T-shirt contest. After all, I'm nourishing a baby with my girls not just feeding the bare-skin desires of some 20-something guys at the local beach bar. Friends, I have become an unabashed, unashamed lactavist.

A lacta wha?

You know, a mama who isn't going to go hide out in the corner of any restroom to nurse her babe while dining out because she doesn't want to offend anyone who just might get a glimpse of breast while her baby is (gasp!) breastfeeding.

I used to be that kind of breastfeeding mother. I used to care about other people's comfort while I was feeding my child. I used to feel like I needed to be politically correct about nursing -- didn't want to accidentally have baby give anyone a peep show during a nursing session because baby deemed something else more interesting than eating. I'd spend nursing sessions wrestling to feed my baby while shielding the world from him and my breast with a nursing cover only for baby to squirm out from underneath and abandon his lunch because he didn't want to be hidden. I'd leave interesting dinner table conversations to hide in a restroom and nurse my little guy so no one around us would feel uncomfortable if they got a glimpse of skin.

I assure you I didn't know it before we hauled our suitcases through the gated, ritzy golf-club community my grandparents call home during the brrr-cold Chicago winters. But those seniors, well, they inadvertently unleashed the breastfeeding advocate living inside this (formerly) politically correct nursing mother.

We were at the pool. We were seated next to some older gentlemen who were lounging in chairs under the warm Florida sun. They must have thought I couldn't hear what they were saying because they were discussing how nice spring break time is because of the change of landscape among the pool crowd. They very obviously were not referring to the rose bushes but rather the young ladies clad in bikinis who were now poolside instead of the older ladies sporting full bathing suits and swim caps during water aerobics. And they were very, very happy to have this change of scenery.


Fast forward to eating at the classy club house located next to the pool where these young ladies sun themselves with their cleavage showcased nicely for anyone to see through the windows.

One of my dining companions leaned over and suggested that perhaps if my little baby wanted to nurse during dinner, I could sneak over to the Billiards room because it would be quiet.

"A lot of these people are old fashioned and conservative," she whispered.

My mind raced back to the gentlemen's poolside conversation; and just like that, I exploded volcano style into a lactavist.

"If the baby wants to eat, I'll feed him in here," I said. "This is a dining room. And if he wants to eat, he'll be dining here in the dining room."

She looked a little taken aback by my answer because I've always been conservative. But you know what -- I still am! I'm a conservative lactavist, and for me, the two go hand in hand.

You won't see me out at the beach displaying my goods for all to see in the name of sexy. You won't find my girls popping out of my shirt in the name of fashion. And you certainly won't find me scampering around the beach busting out of my bathing suit in an attempt to be visually appealing landscape.

But you will find me baring some boob in name of nourishment, in the name of bonding, in the name of snuggling and in the name of loving my baby and giving him the very best nutrition I can.

Because if I hide in a bathroom to nurse my baby or bury him under a nursing cover in an effort to shield my breast while doing the very thing my breasts were made for, I'm not doing anything except for perpetuating the societal myth that breasts are only for bringing sexy back.

And, mamas, though I care about sexy, I'm using these bad boys for bringing nursing back.

***

I’m celebrating World Breastfeeding Week with Natural Parents Network!

You can, too — link up your breastfeeding posts from August 1-7 in the linky below, and enjoy reading, commenting on, and sharing the posts collected here and on Natural Parents Network.(Visit NPN for the code to place on your blog.)

This article was orginally published at Chicago Moms Blog in April 2010.

Bigger Picture Moment: The Tango that is Nursing a Toddler

After 39 months of nursing two little ones, 21 of these last months spent solely nursing E, I've been giving considerable thought to weaning.

But as with any tango, it takes two to dance, and it takes two to call it a night as well.

A self-proclaimed lactivist, much of my inner dialogue balks at the idea of even thinking of weaning my little one before the music's ended and he's taken the lead to move us off of the dance floor.

But, alas, here I am wondering how much longer I can dance at this intensity.

More accurately, here I am, a dancer who's all touched out.

Despite all of the reasons I adore our nursing relationship and passionately support breastfeeding from newborn well into toddlerhood or beyond, I'm finding myself at a complicated place of really wanting my body back for a few months before possibly sporting a brand-new pregnant belly again as well as really wanting to take my few scheduled trips sans kiddos without a pump permanently attached to my breast.

I'd be quite happy to simply slim down our sessions to ones just before bed or nap ... but at 21 months old, E pretty much thinks that the land of flowing mommy milk and honey is a God-given right to all toddlers in search of life, liberty and the pursuit of warm mommy snuggles.

So weaning?

Thems fightin' words.

Literally.

Currently, I need a drawbridge and mote to escape my persistent toddler when he is insistent on nursing. My linebacker child has been known to rearrange an entire dining room set and scale the entire dining room table only to plop down right on my lap and sign for milk after completing the obstacle course.

For those who have never nursed a toddler or even a baby, I know probably it seems strange to think that I'd still be nursing a little one who will turn two this fall.

And the above scenario? It probably sounds extremely weird. To the pre-baby me, it would have sounded absolutely ludicrous to continue nursing a child who could wash down his hamburger with some breastmilk.

So I get it -- this so-called "extended" nursing thing is counter cultural, it's really against the grain and it's really hard to explain to those who are outside of the relationship.

I can assure you, though, that the weaning process isn't as easy as just stopping.

Because nursing is about connection, with oxytocin --the mothering hormone -- coursing through mom's body and the calming act of suckling combined with sweet milk flowing to a nursling whose pressed gently against the skin of his favorite person. Even beyond just physical connection, there's something intensely physiological and physcological occurring every time the two sit down and connect in this way.

And honestly?

Nursing has pretty much been the key to much of the relative peacefulness in my and E's everyday life together. It's calming to both of us ... except for when it's not, like now, when I'd really like my body back again before we embark on a third journey that will likely result in a few more years of nursing another child.

These thoughts of nursing and weaning come just days before John and I are going be away from E for a few nights to attend a conference.

I'm sure E will fare just fine without his beloved mommy milk for two and a half days; likely since he'll be with Buba and Grandma, he'll have all of the organic hotdogs and strawberries he could ever want.

When I'm out of sight, mommy milk is out of his mind.

However, I'm not sure sure how we're both going to survive when I return if he finds the previously generous flow of milk has slowed to a trickle.

I'm left nervously anticipating the consequences of such a situation.

Because after G weaned {much to his irritation at there being no milk by the half way point of my pregnancy}, our relationship morphed from one of relative peace and closeness to daily altercations and struggles of will.

I wonder, if an abrupt weaning like that should happen, if E's reaction would likely mirror his brother's.

And how could I blame him? What could possibly seem unappealing to a little person about sipping sweet cream and snuggling up with mommy several times a day?



So, I don't know that I'm ready for our relationship to drastically change.

And if we return home, my milk still flowing and unaffected by the separation, I don't know if I'm ready for our relationship NOT to change either. And I don't want to be the soulless dancer just going through the motions.

Because I know that nursing is more than nutrients in, breastmilk out, belly full, breast empty just like the tango is more than a few steps to the right, a few steps to the left and a swoop of the foot before the final dip.

There's heart. And there's soul. And there's love in each step that makes up the complexity, the loveliness of the dance.

So I know -- it truly takes two to dance the tango that is nursing.

And I'm praying that somehow I have the heart to keep up with the rhythm of the dance or that music slowly fades into a new song that we're both ready to learn.



Did you see a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment this week? Link up with Sarah today to share the harvest of living intentionally with others on the journey.

Bigger Picture Moment: When people ask about when we'll stop nursing ..

{I don't have many words to explain other than ...}

Sometimes, you strip down to your birthday suit, characteristic of your freedom-loving self, and

toddlerunruntoddletoddlerunrun

right over to me and fall trustingly into my arms.

I scoop you up, feet still dancing, and kiss soft patches of chubby belly while you giggle and giggle and giggle some more.

You're happy enough to laugh and play for a few minutes, but shortly after the novelty of raspberries against bare skin fades, you snuggle your head into the crook of my arm and stretch your legs across the width of my hips intent on completeing your orginal mission.

As you settle in to drink your fill, nostalgia sweeps over me and for a moment, I'm nursing a fresh-born baby, soft warm skin against soft warm skin, on his birth day, mesmerized by your cornflower blue eyes for the first time.



Nineteen months later, my heart still swells every time I have the chance to snuggle your body against my own.

And each time, I marvel at the view from here.



Every week we share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimpse of the biggger picture through a simple moment. Won't you join us in the journey and share your own over at Alita's today?

Live. Capture. Share. Encourage.

Virtual Coffee: Eleven

Were we meeting in person for coffee today, it would likely be at a coffee shop.

You'd thank me, really, for not inviting you over to my casa as we're having an ongoing skunk-smell saga and the whiffs hit at the most unexpected times.

Skunk smell? you might ask.

I'd nod my head as we ordered our drinks -- mine a hot tea to help soothe the allergen-induced mess that are my sinuses -- and share that E wandered in the back door Saturday reeking of disgustingness.

He was covered head to toe in dirt, so I first thought that perhaps he was digging through a portion of the garden where maybe something had long past expired. But upon looking, there was nothing.

We immediately doused the kid in water under the sink, and the smell would.not.budge.

After several scrubbings, I consulted Goodle. And I landed on skunk odor being the most likely culprit.

Did you know skunk spray stays on the ground for up to THREE YEARS?

No?

I kid you not.

After much facebooking discussion, we finally found a remedy that took the skunkiness smell away: coffee grounds.

Well, it took it away until yesterday.

When he pooped.

Dirt and skunk smell really makes you thankful for regular old dirty diapers.

So I thought we got away from all of this skunkiness and then I opened the windows late yesterday afternoon.

And holy overwhleming stench -- the skunk smell was back, drifting into our open living room windows.

Anyway, long story short, we're still trying to figure out where the smell is coming from now that it's {seemingly-oh-dear-God hopefully} exited E's body.

Either you'd be laughing by now at the ridiculousness or you'd be wondering why you decided to meet me for coffee today if we were going to discuss such messes as skunks and bodily functions gone wrong, so I'd quickly the change the subject ask how this week has treated you thus far.

We'd probably talk about the stellar summer-like weather that descended on Chicago's neck of the woods {suburbs?}.

We've been basking in mild temps and enjoying almost everything spring -- except the allergies.

Last night, I woke up around 2 a.m. convinced I'd somehow developed strep while sleeping. But upon waking this morning, I realized it was all allergy related because the symptoms totally subsided.

And while we're talking sleep, I have to whisper -- I say whisper so as to not totally doom tonight -- something: we decided to night wean E this week, and we started last night.

He's been super demanding of lately, and I finally started to feel like I'd fought the good fight for the past 19 months, waking 4-5 times per night to nurse him, and, well, I'm done.

I'm not a nice mommy the day after I've been up every hour nursing and wrestling a milk-crazed toddler, so I knew something needed to change.

And last night -- whispering still -- was so easy.

He woke only once for John, and John was able to snuggle him back to sleep so easily -- no crying or anything, which is totally unlike E.

So this morning, I looked at the Farmer's Almanac -- because the last time E. slept that well, my sister had randomly remarked that she read in the alamanac that it was the best day for weaning a child.

Yeah, I'm not kidding. The Farmer's Almanac really does list best days for weaning {and so much more}, and I really did look though I don't actually put any stock into it.

For the record, today is not one of the best days; of course, we're not following the good ol' almanac, so we'll be proceeding with the night weaning again tonight.

Pray for us. :)

What's new in your world? Allergies making you wish for winter to come back? Farmer's Alamanac got you giggling? Ha! Probably I'm the only who is totally amused by such strange things. ;)

Thanks for having coffee with me today and listening to my random babbling!

Five-Minute Friday: Waking Up

His little toddler body squirms next to my own, stirring me awake at 2:03 a.m.

It's only by the soft glow of the bathroom nightlight that I see his mouth open and head turn back and forth, back and forth, eyes still closed, like a baby bird waiting for its mother to fill his mouth with food.

I thought by this point in toddlerhood that we'd be finished with this whole waking-up-to-nurse-during-the-night thing.

I have apparently underestimated the plans of a certain toddler, though, because every night, as surely as the moon rises in the darkened spring sky, I rise as well to nurse my not-so-baby baby.

And I find myself continuing because he is my baby.

Because even though I'm oh-so tired some mornings, and I'm oh-so ready for a solid eight hours of sleep most nights, I've yet to become ready for him to morph into something other than my baby.

So we wake. We nurse. And I bask in these last few moments of his fleeting babyness. Because I know we won't be waking up together anymore, like this, soon enough.

****




That's time! I have so much more emotion pumping through my heart about this one -- so much more conflict in my head; five minute just won't do it justice. But those are the rules for Five-Minute Friday posts-- write for five minutes straight with reckless abandon for grammar or style of writing the right way.
This week's Five-Minute Friday prompt at The Gypsy Mama was Waking Up.