9 months (and a lot about breastfeeding...)

Michael is 9 months today. NINE MONTHS. Crap. He's growing up fast. Too fast.

He is still breastfeeding. Every 3 hours during the day. No signs of stopping. When I've tried to give him a bottle, he acts as though I am trying to pour Drano down his throat. He is so furious and insulted, that we haven't tried it very frequently. This is the child who was not thriving on my milk at one month old. Formula quite possibly saved his brain...and now he is rejecting it. Warm sweet milk delivered out of a warm breast...or NO MILK AT ALL! Little tyrant.

I weaned Andrew cold turkey at 9 months...I got my period back and I was so FREAKED out about getting pregnant that I wanted to go on full strength birth control IMMEDIATELY. Great reasoning.

Lily kind of hated the whole breast-feeding thing. By 7 months she was already preferring formula in a bottle, and at 8 months I threw in the towel and completely weaned her. Ironically, if she had liked nursing as much as Michael does...there probably wouldn't BE a Michael. I guess some things are meant to be.

I am surprisingly not peeved at this situation. Because I can't/don't pump, I am completely tethered to this child. Usually by this stage in a child's life I am literally itching with restlessness...I MUST BE FREE! But I don't feel that at all this time around...perhaps (I'm sure) because he is my last. And perhaps I appreciate it more because for a brief few weeks in May I was certain that I would not be able to nourish him this way...what a surprise to get to after all.

I feel so blessed to have breastfed my babies. I know not everyone enjoys it or can do it or whatever. I have a fond place in my heart for this experience. I am a big old quitter. I don't like to do things that don't come naturally to me, and I have no remorse for quitting things. Nursing did NOT come easily to me. Andrew did not take to it well, I had NO IDEA what I was doing, and the first 6 weeks were full of tears and pain and awkwardness and pain and uncertainties and pain and screaming obscenities. But I didn't quit. I don't know why...I'm not against bottle feeding. I didn't do it on my own...heaven knows Jeff was supportive (never once suggested giving him a bottle) and both my mother and mother-in-law were cheerleaders extraordinaire. But I am still very proud of myself that I didn't quit...I never gave up. It was a good way to start parenthood..because you can't quit that either, no matter how hard it gets.

I have never been good at nursing...in a way. I never did figure out the traditional cradle hold. Frickin' nursing retard, right here. I never leak. I never get engorged. I have never once felt let-down. I think I've pumped 3 ounces total out of three kids nursing.

But I've gotten a inexplicable and overwhelming satisfaction from it. To me, there was nothing like knowing I was providing everything my baby needed. And I selfishly like the attachment...I know deep down the baby is looking for me because I am the milk-wagon...but I can pretend that he likes me the most just because I'm so cool. :) I really love the middle of the night when it is dark and cold and that baby just snuggles up and is satisfied. I love feeling them go from super tense and angry to a mush of milk drunk baby. I love really quiet nights when I can literally hear the milk slosh in their belly as they drink. I love the gulping. And the little hand reaching up and playing with my hair and patting my neck. I love when they are really small and drink and drink and when they fall asleep they let go of the latch and rest their little head on the breast like a warm pillow. I love when they talk to you in the middle of a meal, and the milk runs out of their mouth. Or they let go, flashing your breast to all in the room, give you a stellar smile, and then grab it back greedily as if someone took it from them in the first place. Oh! And when someone else is holding them, and they see you, and they do that nervous laughter/threatening to cry until the breast is actually in their mouth...I love that.

You can't take pictures of nursing. Really, that would just be weird and quite possibly scar your child as they get older. Could you imagine? Here's you at the hospital, here's you in your swing, here's you sleeping on your mom's boob. YIKES. I guess you just have to hold the memories in your head and heart...which is why when I nurse in public I often see older women grin and sigh wistfully as they glance at me.

I think I'm going to be really really sad when this stage is over. But I feel blessed to have gotten to do it at all. I know that breastfeeding is supposed to be good for the baby...but I think I got quite a bit of benefit also.