Dec. 18, 2016
Tonight marked the end of an era as I nursed my daughter for the last time. The moment had been approaching for a while, yet I found myself unprepared. I made excuses: “We have a trip coming up, and I want to nurse her on the flight,” or “She still has a few teeth to come in,” or “You already nursed her this morning, so you can’t stop now.” However, this morning, I reached a conclusion: today was the day to let go.
Our journey together has not been without its challenges. From the moment she was conceived, I sensed hurdles ahead. My aspirations for a natural birth were shattered when she stubbornly refused to turn, leading to a scheduled C-section. This resulted in four weeks of recovery during which all I could do was nurse her. From our first night in the hospital, her cries filled the room. Despite being constantly by my side, she seemed perpetually unhappy.
In those early days, I battled postpartum depression, a harsh reality that often overshadowed the love I felt for her. My affection was tinged with a sense of obligation rather than the deep maternal bond I had anticipated. My son was only 25 months old when she arrived, and I resented the time I lost with him. I believed that having them only two years apart would foster a close relationship, but I underestimated how much I would miss our time together.
Whether it was her temperament or the energy she absorbed from me, she was often inconsolable. She cried relentlessly unless she was in my arms. Car rides were a nightmare, she detested the stroller, and no one else could hold her without triggering a meltdown. I nursed out of necessity, anger, and frustration — it was my only tool to provide comfort for both of us.
754 days passed. Everyone says it goes fast, but breaking it down like that hardly reflects the weight of our experiences. I often felt as if time stood still.
As I prepared to put her to bed tonight, I spoke to her softly while she clung to me, eager to latch on. “This is the last night of boobie. After tonight, no more boobie, okay?” I said gently. “OK,” she replied, her little mouth finding its familiar place.
As I turned off the light, tears began to fall. This was truly the end. There may be other children in my future to nurse, but this was the last time I would share this bond with her. Nursing had been our solace during the tumultuous early days, but somehow, we emerged stronger. I looked at her and felt my heart swell with love. This little girl had brought me to my lowest point but also showed me a capacity for love I never knew existed. The guilt I carry for not being the ideal mother during those early years is heavy, but I am committed to making amends. I will always be her champion.
She sensed the significance of the moment, her hands brushing against me, and instead of drifting into sleep, she gazed up at me, understanding that this was a turning point for us. Nursing had been our connection amidst the chaos, but I know that in the coming weeks, she may cry and plead for it again. I’ll hold her close and look into her beautiful eyes, reassuring her, “It’s okay, Mommy loves you so much. We don’t need boobie anymore, we’re good.” And indeed, we are good.
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In summary, the journey of motherhood is filled with unexpected challenges and emotional ties. As I reflect on my last moments nursing my daughter, I recognize the growth and strength we’ve shared. Though the path was rocky, we have emerged from it together, ready to embrace the next chapter of our lives.