Gentle Weaning and Play

When Aodhan was born almost three years ago, I was dedicated to breastfeeding. Not for political reasons, not for any feminist reasons, and not because it is one of the tenets of the Attachment Parenting/Gentle Parenting philosophy. Sure, I do see breastfeeding as a political act (the personal IS political) and I do see it as a feminist issue (this is my body and I will do with it what I wish), and yes it is a part of the larger attachment parenting parcel (but who wants to connect with a parenting philosophy that you have to follow with any kind of regiment or risk being ‘tossed out’ of? not me).

I wanted to breastfeed because in my heart and soul it was what I wanted to do. And, when that baby boy arrived fresh and new on my chest, it was what he wanted to do: I mean it. The guy was ready. And so, it began.

But, like a Tolstoy novel, it is still going. And going.

I never placed a time stamp on our breastfeeding relationship. Like my pregnancy, it was a shockingly simple thing for me. I was almost embarrassed to admit that I never struggled with some of the horrific and truly painful realities that so many women and their babies endure during those precious and scary first few weeks. Aodhan had reflux, so an even greater reason to breastfeed. At 5 months we began our journey of BabyLed Weaning, and although I was doomed to the ugliest nursing bras EVER, Kevin was the one washing hummus and avocado off the floor for at least four months until Aodhan figured out that the food went in his mouth and not on the floor.

Despite the solid food, Aodhan nursed longer and more often. The guy was on a boob more often than not – and I was mostly ok with that. I wasn’t working; given that I was an ex-pat living without family or many friends – it wasn’t as though I had loads to do.

Plus, we knew that this little lump was our only little lump. We knew right away that our intense parenting style meant that one was all we were going to share with the world. So Aodhan and I – we lingered in our baby-moon. We hung out in nursing heaven. We nursed through teeth, through arduous plane journeys, through trips across the world, through pulled elbows, the few vaccines he has had. Most importantly, we got through a huge move without a hiccup. I credit my boobies with a whole lot of goodness. Thanks ladies.

But, the time has come when I am thinking that I don’t want to wake up 3-6 times in the night any more. I don’t want to always be secretly worrying that I might get another blocked duct or mastitis, because holy hell they are both terrible. I don’t want to whip them out in public anymore (not that I don’t think it is my right, but I hate trying to wrangle my poor boobs out in shirts that aren’t made for it). I want to buy nice shirts. I don’t want my pjs to be all stretched out. Damn it: I want a new bra.

To his credit, Aodhan has made strides to needing/wanting the boobs with less ferocity. But, this guy isn’t going to give it up. He doesn’t believe in ideas like “self-weaning” or “just forgets about it”. No way.

So we play. It is outdoor play and play with others that distracts him the most from the boobies. And if I can get him to the zoo – my lord, we can go the whole day without boobies.

I get it – I know he nurses for comfort. I know that. The guy can grab himself a glass of water or almond milk. I know it. He knows it. That is why I think he is ready, because play comforts him. He can get lost in his imagination for hours and feel ok about the world. He can check out and wonder about a million things and not need to connect with his mama beyond a conversation, a back rub and a snuggle. He can do this, and we will use play to get us through. Our weaning journey will be as gentle and positive as I can make it, but it has begun.

I have hugely mixed emotions about this. Part of me is pulling out the cheerleading pompoms, while another part (you know, the part that is with you at night when the house is asleep and all you can hear is his tiny  breath next to you. the part that can see that he doesn’t fit quite the same way in your lap anymore. the part that notices that his hand is so big these days) is reaching for a hankie and feeling a little sad and lost.

Over a year ago, my mom bought me a stunning little nursing necklace (because one thing I couldn’t handle was twiddling…it just wasn’t in me and was pushing me toward crazy), and on the back she had engraved:

wean me gently

I shall little guy, I shall.

Long live play.

Please readers: If you have any {positive and helpful} comments, I would really love to hear from you.

There are a million other issues that are tied up with breastfeeding. I promise to address them. But, this one was personal!