In a past issue, Time magazine stirred up quite a debate with a cover featuring a mother nursing a child who appeared to be five years old, alongside the provocative question, “Are You Mom Enough?” I remember my initial reaction: Who on earth would breastfeed for that long?
With my first child, breastfeeding was a challenge that ultimately fell short. No matter how hard I tried, it just didn’t pan out. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me and promised myself that with my next baby, I would make nursing a success, come what may. It seems the universe heard me loud and clear; nearly three years later, after my second child finally figured out how to latch, I found myself in a desperate bid to wean him.
And I mean desperate.
The first few weeks of nursing were pure bliss. After enduring the initial pain of adjusting, I discovered that breastfeeding was everything I’d envisioned about motherhood. I nursed with pride, refusing to cover up in public. I embraced herbal teas, devoured kale, engaged in yoga, and maintained a stress-free environment to keep my milk supply thriving.
As my little one flourished, my pediatrician suggested introducing a bottle. “No way,” I replied. “What if he gets confused and stops nursing?” My doctor’s reassurances calmed my nerves, and I found myself purchasing bottles and new breast pump parts that had been gathering dust for four years.
For months, I attempted to get my child to accept a bottle, but nothing worked. I tried pacifiers, fun blankets with satin edges, and even my finger. Warm milk in a cup? No luck. My child only had eyes for the breast.
He was happy to enjoy bowls of oatmeal, mashed bananas, and hummus by the gallon, but nursing remained non-negotiable.
At 18 months, I thought it was the perfect time to wean. I was determined, thinking we could tackle this together. But the more I pushed for weaning, the more my child clung to nursing.
I was in over my head.
After a particularly challenging night, when my toddler was teething, my husband said, “You do realize you’ve become a walking pacifier, right?” That’s when it hit me: my child’s attachment to nursing was emotional, not just about nutrition. It was akin to asking me to give up carbs entirely. I felt guilty, but deep down, I wanted to stop.
Soon, nursing became uncomfortable. I found myself wanting to say, “Hey buddy, we need to chat…”
So, I turned to my mom friends for guidance on how to ease the separation between my child and my breast. By this stage, my boobs felt more like pacifiers, and I was utterly drained. The bigger he got, the more self-conscious I became about nursing, especially in public or around family members with strong opinions.
I knew that when he started asking to nurse after every meal, before every nap, and whenever I said “no,” we were in trouble.
Now, at 2½ years old, the struggle has escalated. I’ve resorted to tactics I never thought I would consider, including cold turkey. I’ve marked a date on my calendar; that will be the day I break my child’s heart with a wedge of lemon and a turtleneck. I plan to stuff cabbage leaves into my bra, apply lemon juice to my nipples, wear impossibly tricky shirts, and prepare for the inevitable tantrums. I’m told this phase should last about a week.
I cherished the nursing bond and the closeness it brought, but I’ve realized that while I was “mom enough” to nurse this long, I’m also “mom enough” to acknowledge it’s time to move on.
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Summary
This article delves into the author’s personal journey with breastfeeding and the challenges of weaning her child. It highlights the emotional bond formed through nursing, the struggles of maintaining that relationship, and the ultimate decision to transition away from breastfeeding. The piece offers relatable insights for parents facing similar challenges and encourages seeking support through various resources.