A Child All Her Own

I snapped this picture in the early hours one morning, before the sun was all the way up. Before you were really awake. You held your arctic fox and we were entangled, sharing milk for the last time. We had talked about weaning and you decided you weren't quite ready, but I knew you would be soon so I wanted to take a picture every time you nursed in case it was the last.

This particular time was unusual. It was so early in the morning that we'd typically just sleep through. It reminded me very much of when you were a newborn. You'd wake up at night and all you needed was me, and everything was quiet in the whole house. Just us, together, nursing, peaceful. It seemed like we could be the only people up in the entire world, just you and I in that silence.

You were born and you were nursing every hour. Then you became a toddler and you were nursing several times a day and all throughout the night. You grew into a big kid and you nursed before every nap, and before bedtime. When you were hurt, or sad, or lonely. Sharing milk was your home base. 4 years, 3 months, 15 days.

One morning you woke up and proudly declared, "I'm weaned!" And just like that, you decided you were ready to become a child all your own.

We had talked about weaning before this day, and I explained this to you. That when you were growing into a baby in my womb we shared one body. You could feel my heartbeat and I could feel your movement and we were very much a part of each other. Then, when you were born, we were still very much a part of each other, totally entangled. I held you close, slept with you, nursed you day and night. We could not be without the other. As you grew and became independent, we still shared this link between us. An invisible string that kept us together in this world as an inseparable part of each other. We talked about how weaning is a very special occasion, and one day, when you are ready we'll be able to celebrate you going into the world apart from me, as a child all your own. 

That day came and you were so proud of yourself, so confident and ready. It was a very special day, so we went to a very special place. We walked up still as one unit, holding hands. And then you crossed by yourself. Out into the world. Weaned. A child all your own! A very special thing to celebrate.

Three Years of Celebrating World Breastfeeding Week!

All photos in this post were taken by the amazing and talented Victoria M., at Lazy M. Photography. Be sure to stop by her facebook page and check out more of her work through her website. 

I have a big kid. It's no secret - everybody knows. She knows. In fact,  she'll tell you, but you won't need her to when you meet her. She'll most likely be talking to you about space - which planets are her favorites, about why plants can be poisonous but snakes can be venomous, showing you a new dance, or telling you about her dogs. You'll know she's a big kid like I know she's a big kid. Even when I bring her to my heart when she's hurt or tired and I see the baby I've always seen, I know she's a big kid. I hold her tiny hand in my hand and if we're very still I can feel it happening in that moment. Her growth is my growth, and I can feel it. She raises her hands up, up, up. As high as she can. She proclaims, "I'm growing so tall. I'm almost so tall as my dad!" She is proud. Growing and growing. 

When she was a toddler we were grabbing lunch at a restaurant after a long morning, she was hungry, tired, and getting upset. I offered to nurse her and we did. In the restaurant booth, the same as I have in many places and so many times throughout her life. Her sneakers were hanging out of the booth and I can remember thinking to myself that she looked like such a big kid that day. Maybe I second guessed myself in that moment, but she was comforted. Her comfort is my comfort and I can feel it. A table nearby asked to move, they were very offended. "She's too old for that." They must have thought that sneakers made a big kid, too, and that was years ago. If she was a big kid then, she's certainly a big kid now. She can't even fit into those sneakers these days! Growing and growing. Far past the stage when many seem to think she shouldn't be nursing anymore.

And yes, I am still nursing her. I have to say that phrase a lot, ad nauseam. Over and over. It has become a programmed response that blends in with all of the other practiced responses that field off judgments made by well meaning acquaintances, strangers, or even family members. I've heard it all. From the don't-you-think-she's-too-old-for-that's to the don't-you-want-your-body-back's to the aren't-you-worried-she'll-never-quit's and even worse. Today, in honor of World Breastfeeding Week, I want to open this discussion that I am usually too quick to shy away from with an awkward smile and a mumbled "this is what works for our family." Moving forward, I'd like to change the dynamic from snap judgments on your part and hurt feelings on mine. I encourage you to ask me the questions you have and to start a conversation. You may just change your mind!  

Since 1979, The World Health Organization has recommended that all children throughout the world be breastfed for a minimum of 2 years of age, with no defined upper limit on duration of breastfeeding. This recommendation is further supported by many reputable health organizations around the world. The American Academy of Family Physicians has said, "Breastfeeding beyond the first year offers considerable benefits to both mother and child, and should continue as long as mutually desired."  The American Academy of Pediatrics has said that "Increased duration of breastfeeding confers significant health and developmental benefits for the child and the mother", and further stated that "there is no upper limit to the duration of breastfeeding."  The Academy of Breastfeeding Medicine states that "Children have the right to the 'highest attainable standard of health,' which entails the right to be breastfed." But, it doesn't stop there. From the Centers for Disease Control,  to the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology, to the European Union Blueprint on Breastfeeding, to the International Federation of Gynecology and Obstetrics, to the International Pediatric Association, and beyond!


Then there's the fascinating work from Anthropologist Katherine Dettwyler, whose research has shown that human children are biologically programmed to be breastfed for a minimum of 2.5 years, and up to a maximum of about 7 years. Her peer reviewed 2004 publication: When to Wean: Biological Versus Cultural Perspectives states that "Extended breastfeeding, from a minimum of 2.5 years to a maximum of about 7 years, is healthy, physiologically normal, and evolutionarily adaptive. It optimally meets the needs of children for nutritional, immunologic, and emotional sustenance until they are ready and able to meet those needs on their own. Duration of breastfeeding is the only life history variable that is subject to direct and substantial cultural intervention and the only one for which routine shortening or complete elimination has become accepted as the cultural norm in some populations."

In addition to resounding consensus from the medical and scientific community on breastfeeding being a normative and biologically appropriate practice for children, there are undeniable benefits to both mother and child. As a child gets older breastfeeding continues to be a valuable source of nutrition and disease protection for as long as the nursing relationship continues. A mother's milk does not lose nutrients at an arbitrary age any more than broccoli does. In fact, we know that human milk expressed by mothers who have been lactating for over a year has significantly increased fat and energy contents when compared with that of women who have been lactating for shorter periods.

You may also have heard of the immunological benefits of breastfeeding. Breastfed children have fewer illnesses, illnesses of shorter duration, and lower mortality rates around the world because human milk is an important and invaluable source of antibodies which play an essential role in the prevention and treatment of childhood illness. Further, just as the nutritive properties of breastmilk aren't lost at an arbitrary age, neither are these important immune factors. As it turns out, they actually increase in concentration to meet the needs of an older child who is nursing less.  Finally, despite the cultural narrative that extended breastfeeding will inhibit a child's independence, we know that extended nursing can actually promote social development. In her paper Extended Breastfeeding and the Law, Elizabeth Baldwin, Esq., states that "There is no evidence that breastfeeding a child beyond infancy is harmful. Quite the opposite is true: breastfeeding benefits toddlers and young children, both nutritionally and psychologically. (...) Breastfeeding is a warm and loving way to meet the needs of toddlers and young children. It not only perks them up and energizes them; it also soothes the frustrations, bumps and bruises, and daily stresses of early childhood. In addition, nursing past infancy helps little ones make a gradual transition to childhood. In fact, prolonged nursing is associated with better social adjustment. (...) Meeting a child's dependency needs is the key to helping that child achieve independence. And children outgrow these needs according to their own unique timetable."

Aside from the overwhelming benefits and all of the reasons there are to continue nursing, the most convincing is that I can see my child, in all of her big kid glory, is thriving. Just growing and growing. I can see it in her resilience, her independence, her fearlessness, her leadership, her bravery. She's not ready to wean, and that's okay. It's normal! It's appropriate. It's practical. It's amusing. It's loving. It's beautiful. She's loved, healthy, and happy. And her happiness is my happiness - what could be wrong about that? 

Two years in review

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

One day, somewhere in between the hustle and bustle of the holidays, visiting relatives, a failed house purchase, moving, and the world's worst and most persistent case of strep throat, I woke up with a two year old. You're two. You proudly exclaim, "I'm a big kid." I feel proud, too.

I have a lot to be proud of, Sweet Bee. First and foremost, we met our nursing goal. When you were born I had a severe hemorrhage and I didn't get to hold you right away. You were in the same room, and I heard you and spoke to you, but your first moments weren't spent on my chest, skin to skin. They were spent in a warmer with strangers. I never felt that immediate sense of giving birth, the 'I did it' moment.

The first time I held you, you were 30 minutes old, and clean. And it wasn't the way I'd pictured our first meeting. But the experience that didn't happen after your birth happened the first time you latched onto my breast. The connection. The powerful feeling of knowing, 'I did it.' My 'I did it.' 

You are becoming more and more independent with each day, with each year! I know that soon you aren't going to seek out this comfort anymore. There are times that you fall and would rather have a kiss. Times you'd rather listen to a story than fall asleep with a cuddle. Times when you're simply too busy exploring the world. I know this is coming to an end, and I'll always treasure this closeness we've shared.

I'm proud of your curiosity. Your brave, inquisitive nature. Your capacity to explore, fully, and without fear. Your careful examination of objects you find.

I'm proud of your empathy. One day this year, while nursing you to sleep, I was watching a documentary about hunger and poverty in America. I wasn't aware that you were awake or alert enough to take any of it in, but to my surprise, when you heard a young boy say he was hungry, you looked up at me and said, "we have to take him something to eat." These moments are the foundation, the building blocks of an empathetic and caring nature.

I'm proud, perhaps most of all, of your warmth. The way you approach every day with such an innocent longing and eagerness. The way you brighten people's day, anyone you come into contact with. You are something very important, and I know your warmth will continue to impact everyone around you as you grow.

You love to read, you love to sing, you love to pretend. You love animals. You love people. You love music. You love your dog. You love to dance. You love to play. You love, fully, and without question or judgement. You really love. 

For Christmas this year you received a bright, red tricycle and a small piano to play. You went to sleep on Christmas Eve in pink pajamas, full of excitement. You woke up in the morning wiping your sleepy eyes and couldn't wait to try out your new gifts. It was still early and dark outside, and we went for a ride to look at Christmas lights. It was magical. 

On New Years Eve I took you to see fireworks. You fell asleep on the way and I took you out when we arrived at the river overlooking downtown. You said, "Mom, you hear that?" I said yes. You said, "Mom, you see that?" I said yes. You said, "It's beautiful." I said, "Happy birthday, sweet girl."

It's amazing how much you've grown this year, and how far we've come. As mothers, I think we expect to teach you so much about the world, and of course we do. The most humbling part, though, is how much we learn. 

You are two now, sweet bee. And you are incredible. 

Happy holidays from sweet Bee

I have been so busy during this holiday season, and have really taken on more projects than I can keep up with, blog included. Rest assured, I have several wonderful toddler activities to post for the new year! Until then, I'll leave you with a little holiday cheer.

And finally, busy little helpers need frequent breaks!

I hope you're all enjoying your Christmas eve.

9 Months of Breastfeeding

Bee has turned nine months old this week. Despite the fact that she has blossomed into a walking, talking, independent being who is rushing into toddlerhood with unparalleled determination not to remain a baby, I have kept the promise I made to her when she was born. The first time I held her, comforted her, nursed her, and watched her sleep in my arms I promised her that I would always remember her the way she was at that very moment, and I always have. It is a complete novelty to me to see her standing up, let alone walking! My sweet, tiny, new baby couldn't possibly be capable of that already, but I digress!

There are so many milestones a baby meets during their first year which are celebrated. Their first smile, first laugh, first word, first tooth, first step. So many firsts. Becoming a mother is also followed by several firsts and important milestones, which are often less celebrated - especially in western culture.  For everything that Bee has become over the last 9 months and all of the firsts she has completed and moved on from, the milestone I am most proud of meeting is our 9 months of breastfeeding.

There is no debate whether or not breastfeeding is the healthiest choice for mothers and babies. After all, it promotes bonding, protects your baby from a variety of illnesses, lowers your baby's risk of dying from SIDs, boosts your baby's immunity, decreases the risk of your baby becoming obese and reduces their risk of childhood cancer - among other things. For the mother, it can help ward off post partum depression, decrease her risk of several cancers - including breast, ovarian, and uterine cancer as well as lower her risk of diabetes. My favorite benefit of breastfeeding, though, is the time you spend skin to skin with your baby. Breastfeeding provides a unique physical closeness and a cocktail of hormones that you simply cannot get while bottle feeding and it's the most incredible feeling that really can't even be described to someone who hasn't breastfed. 

While the benefits of breastfeeding are something that almost everyone is aware of, what isn't talked about so openly is how difficult and challenging and hard it can be. Bee and I have faced so many challenges over the course of our nursing relationship that there was a time when I didn't think we'd even make it to my minimum goal of six months. In the beginning, she had frenulum issues more commonly referred to as a tongue tie. We could not get a correct or deep enough latch, so nursing her was very painful - every time - and she was (is) a very demanding nurser. The first few weeks I cried during each nursing session, it was a horrible feeling knowing that I was doing what was best for her but wondering if it was the best thing for me, and in turn, for our family. Babies need healthy and happy mothers, and I was spiraling further into post partum depression and desperately wanted breastfeeding to work for us. Even so, I dreaded every nursing session. I grew to hate breastfeeding, I felt trapped by it, and I experienced a tremendous amount of guilt for feeling those things.

I met with La Leche League leaders, other mothers, doulas, lactation consultants, and pediatricians. The support I received from them and my husband was so instrumental to our success. I'd tell myself that there were many parts of parenting I might not enjoy, but I had to do what was best, and I'd continue breastfeeding - taking it one day at a time. When Bee was in her sixth month, her father and I made the decision to demand a referral to an ear, nose and throat specialist who could perform a surgery called a frenectomy to clip her tongue tie. Knowing that it would be a short and easy procedure didn't calm our nerves, but we knew that if her latch was not corrected we would not be able to maintain our breastfeeding relationship and she and I would be put at significant risks of everything that comes with weaning, including emotional trauma and an increased risk of illness. 

This photo was taken in recovery after her surgery, it was the first time in almost 7 months that I was able to nurse her without pain - it was absolutely surreal and incredible. I knew in this moment that we wouldn't have to wean and that I could continue breastfeeding bee for as long as she needs. It was an amazing feeling because it meant that our entire struggle was worth it. 

Though it was only a few months ago, those days seem so far in the distant past. Breastfeeding bee is now one of my favorite parts of our relationship. It's an absolute joy and it's now so natural that I sometimes forget it was ever a challenge. There are times when bee is hungry and nurses with such intensity. There are times when bee is playing and walks by to nurse for just a quick moment to reconnect before returning to her work. There are times when she is upset and I take her into my arms and latch her on and she breathes a sigh of relief and her whole body just goes limp with relaxation. There are times when she falls asleep at my breast and smiles in her sleep when she reaches out to touch my skin. It's so much more than nutrition and something I'm so glad that I can provide to her and so glad that we made it through the difficult times to get where we're at now. To every mother who is also struggling with breastfeeding and worried that you won't make it, I think you are amazing. I am proud of you. It will be worth it.