Thoughts upon one year of nursing

Ha! The English major in me totally likes that title. Sort of reminiscent of Anne Bradstreet and "Upon some distemper of the body." Ok, ok, it's a little lame, but it's late, I'm tired, and it doesn't take much right now for me to find myself clever. This might get edited out tomorrow, fyi.

Well, today was not one of "our" better ones - meaning, myself, Moopy, and Doopy (the respective names of our born and unborn children). I had one hell of a headache. If one could die of headaches, I would be on my merry way to being 6 feet under the ground by now. Greta (Moopy) was not "feeling" her nap. We fought over it for a good hour, upon which time Mommy surrendered and put Moopy in her crib to think things over. I hate doing that. Whenever I do it because I am just out of options rather than as a result of a well-reasoned plan, I feel like I failed something as a mother. However, failed or no, Greta did fall asleep after complaining loudly in her crib for 15 minutes. But all that was enough to amp up the headache to unbearable heights. So what did I do? I laid on the couch, called el Husbandito, worried about my sister, and contemplated writing an entry tonight about nursing.

Which brings us (finally) to the point of the title. It's a funny thing, but as we near the end of Greta's nursing period, I'm starting to feel very sentimental about the end of one of the hardest things I ever had to learn. Note: I am not going to be one of those people who nurse two babies concurrently! I'm not denying there may be health benefits, but please! Just imagine what that would do to your boobs. Kidding, people, kidding. But seriously, no more nursing for Greta after Doopy gets here. But I digress... Oh yes, nursing Greta. Going in to it a year ago, I had no real set ideas. I refused to take the La Leche classes, simply because I thought it seemed a little much. I did read their book, but couldn't get past the very dated pictures in the edition my mother-in-aw had. I just thought I would figure it out when it had to happen. The only part I recall feeling certain about was that it was going to happen. From my own mom, who'd breastfed each of her six kids, I inherited the firm conviction that this was the only way to do it. Besides that, someone had told me that breastfed babies were healthier, and if there is anything that really scared me about having a child, it was the thought of aforesaid child getting sick, catching a cold, having an earache... God knows what. Sick people and I don't/have never mixed well.

So Greta was born and anyone interested can read that entry posted somewhere in this blog. The short version of that story was that it was the easiest birth I had ever or have ever heard about it. Literally 15 minutes after Greta was born, Josh and I were laughing about it and talking about when to have the next baby. In all seriousness, I was very blessed and lucky. I am a firm believer in the notion that God gives you only the struggles you can handle. Well, I guess I can't handle very much (knock on wood!). But what threw me for a loop was the nursing. That was TOTALLY the worst part about having Greta. The first two or three days before my milk "came in" were fine. She didn't nurse a lot and needed to be cup fed. Not fun, but nothing compared to the nightmare that ensued when I started making real milk. [TMI alert for all you boys, non-mothers, or squimish folks] For one, I was sickeningly engorged. Literally, my boobs grew to be the size of my head. And I wonder why that is the only place I have stretchmarks? It hurt like... not even like hell. It just plain and simply hurt like nothing I can compare it to. Then, of course, whenever Greta "latched" on, it felt like my nipples were about to burn off. It was so, so, so horrible. And to top things off, instead of lasting the "one or two weeks" my midwife promised, this went on for about 1 month. If that wasn't bad enough, Greta was a really poor nurser at first and had to constantly cajoled into eating.

The funny thing was that through all this, I never doubted that I could "do" this or that it would eventually get better. I suppose when you're raised by a mother who exclusively breastfed, you forget that there are other options available. Greta gained back all the weight she needed, and I appreciated that no one was around to tell me that I wasn't doing a good enough job, or that I needed to supplement, or that my kid wasn't getting all she needed. Because it did work out. Until she hit about 6 months, Greta was not a very good nurser... needed to be coaxed into eating, bad latch, etc. However, after about the 6 month mark, she became very consistent and dependable in her feedings. I actually came to look forward to snuggling with her fat, little body and nursing her. It was our cuddle time, mutually enjoyable to both of us. We'd lay in bed, side by side, and she would curl up with her little feet against my tummy, her little mouth busily working, and all was at peace between mommy and baby for the time.

So what happened to end this utopian existence? At about 9 months, I simply had enough of the whole thing. Why? (Major confession moment coming up) I got so sick of my shirts getting stretched out. I usually wear fitted, ribbed tees or tanks, and you know how those stretch out on their own during the course of the day. However, when you are lifting them up and down all day long, that nice, form-fitting shape doesn't last long. No, it lasts until the first feeding. Then you are stuck with the option of changing your shirt or going through the day looking like you are wearing a bag... and a droopy one at that! Between that and the fact that we were getting less sleep at night due to increased night feedings prompted me to finally start solids.

Four months later, I'm three and a half months pregnant, and the mother of a very fat and health child. She still nurses at night and before naps, but it's no longer her primary source of food. But now when I nurse her, there is something in me that becomes very sad, as I watch that fat little face suck so intently. Nursing has always been "our time"... just Mommy and Moopy. She really enjoys it, and although I'm back to having sore nipples due to the pregnancy, I enjoy the exclusivity of our bonding time. It's very bittersweet knowing that it will all be over so soon. Not that there aren't more fun things to come, and not that I won't be able to do this ALL OVER AGAIN with several more children (God willing), but it won't be the same. No baby will ever be my first baby, no baby will ever have to learn so much with me, and right now, I think that no baby could ever be as loving and sweet as my little Greta.

But I guess that's life... whatever does remain the same?

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Just for Katie...
How did teething affect nursing? I'm going to pull a brilliant one and tell you that "it's different for everyone." In our case, Greta did not cut any teeth until after her first birthday. Crazy, isn't it? However, I'm still nursing her one month later, and in all honesty, it doesn't affect it for us at all. Seriously. I wouldn't know if she had teeth if I was to go by how nursing feels now. I do take extra precautions now. I don't let her just "hang out" unless she is actively sucking. If she isn't, I take her off, just in case she starts feeling "chewy." Granted, my case might be a little different. Since getting pregnant when Greta was 9 months, my nipples have been SO sore, just from the pregnancy hormones. So I'm sore regardless, and believe me, I would know if she started biting. I wouldn't worry too much about it. From what every mom I know has said, if you either yell at them, take them off the boob, drop them on the floor (kidding), they usually get the hint pretty quickly and stop biting.