Tag Archives: nursing relationships

My Boobs Are Sad

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A while back, I mused about what would become of my breasts  when I was done nursing my youngest of my two children, Emily.

Emily weaned completely about six months ago, shortly after her fourth birthday.

I had written so many posts about how we were “almost there” with our weaning, that I haven’t really bothered to write anything about the fact that we actually did “get there.”

Weaning had been a very long process for us that took close to two years, as Emily slowed her nursing sessions to twice per day, and then only to once per day either in the morning or before bed.

I had wanted weaning to be a gradual and mutual decision.  I didn’t want it to be traumatic for either of us.  The beginning of my nursing relationship with Emily had been very traumatic as I suffered extreme nipple damage and had to really fight to keep my supply and the nursing relationship between my baby and myself.

Initially, I felt robbed of the “perfect” nursing experience with my daughter.  I’d had tons of struggles and antenatal depression with my first child, and had ended up needing to supplement with formula with him.

Although I am beyond thankful that all was well that ended well with my son, when I was pregnant with Em, I was really committed to the idea of exclusively nursing.  I felt certain that I had been better educated on breastfeeding due to the trial and error with my son, and that everything would go off without a hitch.

My confidence was shattered shortly after Emily’s birth when my nipples became mangled as a result of her tongue tie.  For 11 weeks, I battled a nipple wound that would not heal.  Finally we got things sorted out, but my supply never got back to what it needed to be to be able to pump milk for her to have upon my return to my job at 12 weeks after her birth.

I took a huge amount of comfort in the fact that she continued to nurse whenever she was with me, and that she almost always refused the bottle at daycare and then would reverse cycle all night with me.  Sure I was tired, but I was thrilled that we were not having to supplement with very much formula, and that Emily was such a champion nurser.

Eventually, I accepted that while our relationship was not what I could label “perfect” from the get go, it ended up being pretty amazing and sweet.

And it endured much longer than I thought it would.

My son had weaned completely at 23 months.  Like I said, we’d had to supplement him with formula, but he continued to nurse first thing in the morning with me until one morning he woke up, asked for milk in a cup and that was that.

I don’t remember having any truly intense feelings related to this weaning.  Sure it was bittersweet, but it was not devastating in any way.  And as a first-time mom, I was thrilled I’d been able to milk it out to nearly two years (pun intended!).

I had figured Em would wean around the same time.  But she didn’t.  She turned two and then three and still loved her milky cuddles with mama.  Around the time she turned three, we started talking about what it would be like for her to not nurse anymore.  Long story longer, she went another whole year and was still occasionally nursing when she turned four.

Then she stopped.

It was so gradual.  It was almost unnoticeable.

To be honest with you, I don’t really think about it all that often.

Until I do think about it and then it is difficult to stop thinking about it.

A client came to my office with her toddler a while back.  The child grew fussy, and she surprised me by offering him her breast, which he eagerly took and settled right down.  It was absolutely the most natural and graceful thing to watch.  I told her how thrilled I was that she was nursing her toddler, but the image stayed with me throughout the day and into the night along with a feeling of deep sorrow.

It had been the first time I’d seen a mom nursing since I weaned Emily.

And this is going to sound crazy, but I felt an actual physical sensation in my breasts like I used to feel when my milk let down.  But it was different.  It was like the shadow of that let down sensation, and I felt bereft.  It was like my boobs actually felt sad.

When you are bonding and nursing with a new baby, your body creates oxytocin which is the chemical that signals the need to produce milk.  It also creates a drowsy, sweet, loving feeling between you and your baby, which for me also extended to the world at large.

So, when I saw this mom nursing, it was like I got a surge of oxytocin but there was no milk and no baby to nurse.  I went home and felt the need to give Emily and Jack extra cuddles.

I think about how I am no longer nursing at other weird times too.  Like when I went to the pharmacy and was browsing the antacids and realized that I could take alka-seltzer again.  It used to be my go-to remedy before pregnancy and nursing, but it has aspirin in it so you can’t use it during the aforementioned times.  So I purchased it with a mix of hey-this-is-awesome and hey-this-is-super-sad.

I’m bummed about weaning in a lot of ways.  It makes me sad to not have that connection with another human any longer.  It is a reminder that children grow so quickly and things change faster than you can ever imagine.  I also blame the ten pound weight gain on weaning, as well as some of my hormonal shifts and mood swings. . . although I realize those should be well regulated by now.

There is no going backwards in life.

And as I continue marching forward, I am having trouble trying to figure out what to do with these floppy appendages that seem to be a permanent DDD cup size now and give me back and neck pain.  They are like an accessory that has gone out of style, only I can’t pack them away into the back of my closet or toss them in the junk drawer.

Once upon a time, they were pert and pretty.  They attracted people and were objects of potential sexual pleasure.  Then I had kids and they became vehicles of nurturance and nutrition.

About a week after I had Jack, I developed a urinary tract infection and went to a doctor.  She was excited to hear that I was breastfeeding and shared that she had nursed her kids and it had been a great experience for her.

“But your breasts are ruined for sex forever,” She had mused.  “They become like these tube socks with golf balls at the end.”

Well. . .

I guess mine are more like balloons with permanently erect, frozen peas at the end, so her very lucid description was a bit off there.  But she was right about one thing–  my boobs are of no use for my sex life anymore.  There is a cognitive dissonance that these soft things that Emily still likes to pat and rub her face on could be used for anything other than bringing comfort to my babies.

So, I guess it is a blessing my husband is an ass man.  Anyway, I digress. . .

Six months after weaning Emily, and I am still wondering what will become of my breasts now that I am done nursing.  I’m trying to figure out how I feel about them, and what to do about the sense of sadness and loss.

At the end of the day I am very proud and content with the nursing relationships I had with both Emily and Jack.  They were conflicted and diverse, but they were filled with love. Even as my boobs feel sad that it isn’t something I’ll ever share again with another human, I am grateful for the experiences I did have breastfeeding.

What was your weaning experience like?  Did you experience any hormonal shifts or depression with weaning?  Talk to me in the comments below.  I love to hear from you!  And please feel free to share my post on social media, or with other nursing/weaning moms in your life.  xoxo and momaste!  

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“M” is for. . .

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"M" is for memories. . .

“M” is for memories. . .

All summer, we have been saying Emily is three and a half.  But the truth hit me the other day that she is really and truly almost four.

My baby will be four-years-old in two months.

Put that in your pipe, and so forth.

It really seems like four years is so much different than three.  Like when a kid turns four, they turn a corner and are no longer Mama’s baby.  Or toddler.  They fall into a totally new category–  “preschooler.”

I’m just not ready for that.

“M” is for “more”.  More time.  

Emily is a beautiful child.  She is wild and vivacious.  She has curly hair that gets all tangled.  She is so proud of how long it is finally growing, and many days she wants to just leave it be.  “I just want it all frowsy,” she will say when I offer braids of pony tails or a little bun for ballet.  She is strong-willed, carrying a big ball of fire in that Hello-Kitty purse with her ballet slippers.

Emily is also sensitive and sweet and she has a huge heart.  She worries about other people and is eager to please.

She is equal parts sweetness and strength.

“M” is for “magnificent”.

Over the summer, she has gone from nursing a solid two times per day, to maybe asking to nurse twice per week.

It is a really big change for us.

She will go an entire week, before noticing she has not had mama-milk, then she’ll ask for it either at bedtime or in the morning.  Sometimes she will simply rest her face in my chest and sniff me, or pat my breasts in a casually fond way, as if to say, Hey there, I remember you.

“M” is for “mama” and “milk”.

For the most part, people including my husband, extended family and friends have been supportive and understanding about my nursing relationship with Emily.  Since we’ve only been nursing in the morning and at night for the past two years, give or take, I have never had occasion to nurse her as an older toddler in public.  I know it would raise some eyebrows.  Part of me wishes I could have this experience as a lactavist.  Another part of me shudders at the judgement I would garner, and knows I would never have the tits for it.

I do not, however, shy away about talking about my full-term breastfeeding.

Recently, I had a physical.  During the triage, the medical assistant asked me where I had my mammogram done.  I told her I’d not yet had one.  Then I mentioned that I was actually lactating and didn’t even know if they do mammograms while a woman is lactating.  She asked me how old my baby was.  I told her Em is three and a half (almost four, almost four…  I know!).

She looked at me in horror as if I had just told her there was a rancid, green discharge seeping out of my navel.  “You’re nursing a three and a half year old?”  She asked in obvious disgust.

There were a number of places I could have gone in that moment, but I chose to smile as sweetly as possible at her and say, “Yes.  We are proponents of full-term nursing in my house.”  She said nothing more.  I did mention to my doc that the assistant had been rather judgey-wudgey, and told her about nursing Emily.  My doc is awesome.  She said her sister had nursed her baby well into the toddler years, and if a family is happy with it than so be it.

So.  Be.  It.

Turns out I still have to have to mammogram, lactating or not, but that is another post for another day.

“M” is for “mammogram”.

We’ve been working on this weaning thing as a team, Emily and I.  I wanted for us both to be ready, and I wanted us both to be comfortable with either nursing or not nursing as the case may be.  But I had firmly decided that at four years of age, I would tell her the milk-center was closed for good.

But like most parenting decisions I’ve made never to do (e.g., pacifiers, co-sleeping, hotdogs), I knew if she wanted to nurse on or after her fourth birthday, I would probably cave, especially if it was important to her.  More than anything, I do not want weaning to be traumatic for either of us.  And so far, for the most part, it has not been.  There have been times where I refused to nurse her because I was too hot or tired, and while she miffed for a moment or two, it was okay.

But it is a loss of sorts, this whole weaning thing.

I’ve really enjoyed my nursing relationship with Emily.  I have so many memories of her plump, round face gazing up at me as she nursed as a baby.  I even enjoyed pumping for her when I went back to work.  It sounds crazy, because pumping–  UGH!  But I did.  I liked it because it made me feel connected to her.  I even kept a two ounce vial of milk I pumped for her in the freezer.  I have it still.  It’s probably three years old, but I can’t bring myself to throw it away…

Last night she asked to nurse for the first time in about a week.  I told her okay, but I didn’t know if there would be a lot of milk there, because she is a bigger girl now and she isn’t needing it as much.  She didn’t care and nestled in.  But after about 15 seconds, she let me know there was only a tiny bit of milk.  She tried the other side.  Same deal.  Only a little bit.

My milk supply is finally catching up, or letting go as it were, with the decreasing demand for it’s product.

This is a really big change for us.

“M” is for “mourning”.

As a nursing mom, you cultivate and protect your milk supply at all costs in those early days of nursing.  You obsess over it.  Schedule time for extra pumping sessions.  You talk about it non stop.  You compare it with other people.  I can remember feeling actual jealousy over photos of freezer-milk-stashes that some moms would share on Facebook (yeah, it’s a thing nursing moms do online in breastfeeding groups, in case you weren’t aware…  we used to get jealous over someone else’s huge ring or handbag, now we get jealous over how many baggies and ounces of boobie juice are in the freezer…).

While I’ve gotten comfortable with my body’s ability to produce, and haven’t needed to obsess or stress about my milk supply in ages, the realization that my body has recognized it no longer needs to make milk is new territory.  It is a territory in which I am sitting in a quiet discomfort, knowing there is not anything I can do to change it.

Emily will wean.  I can not have any more babies, so this means my breastfeeding journey of this lifetime is coming to an end.

I guess I can’t really explain why this is such a poignant turning point for me.  I struggled to nurse my babies, and it was an important victory.  So there’s that.  It is also the tangible connection to my children, a physical nurturance that I will never again get to give them.

In a way, I can be fine with all of this.  I nursed Jack until he was about to be two, and Emily is nearly four, so that makes a total of six years of my life spent nursing my children.  I’m proud of that, not because it makes me any better than anyone else who did it longer or shorter than me, but because it is just something special to me.  Something I did.  Kind of like going to Toronto by myself when I was in grad school.

Strange as it may sound, breastfeeding is also a really important part of who I am as a person.  It is something in which I believe.  It is something about which I am passionate, and something I seek to promote, normalize, and provide education to those willing to listen or ask.

And I’m sure it will continue to be an interest and a passion of mine.  My goal for my next life (when Emily is in school full day) is to become a La Leche League leader and to eventually get my IBCLC.  I would love to help other women fulfill their nursing goals, whether it is for a day, a month, a year, or four years.

So, “M” is for “metamorphosis”.

Things change and it has to be okay, because there isn’t really anything we can do, other than acknowledge, breathe, and accept.

Here’s the good news:  Emily and I are still as close as ever.  We chat and cuddle and play and drive around listening to princess music.  Even though weaning will alter our relationship, it will not weaken or break it in any way.  Just as I trusted in my body to make milk for my babies, so will I trust in my relationship with Emily and our ability to be close to one another no matter what.

“M” is for “Momaste”.  The mom in me bows to the mom in you.