TheLionRampant.net

Really there’s not much of a story here. Many moms have a very hard time breastfeeding their first child (latch problems, supply issues, etc). I didn’t but I was worried about my milk coming in late. Since it came in so late with my first (see post below), I wasn’t sure if that was due to the circumstances of his birth or that my milk just came in that late normally. So I continued to nurse Ezra through my pregnancy with Porter partly because I wanted to make sure that Porter had something to eat when he was born.

The birth was beautiful (although a bit crazy). Porter took to nursing right away and has never looked back since. He’s consistently gained much faster than Ezra in fact. What has been interesting is introducing the whole concept of tandem nursing an infant and a toddler. Would I have enough milk for both? Would Ezra (since he’s older and more developed) take too much so Porter wouldn’t get enough? How could I tell Ezra ‘no’ when Porter was nursing?

First let me say that the resources at Kelly Mom have been fabulous, as has Nursing Two. And mainly, I don’t analyze it much. I make sure I’m eating and try to drink lots of water to keep my milk supply up. I generally only let Ezra nurse 3 times a day and when he asks other times, sometimes I’ll let him have a sip, or other times he’ll get something special like lemonade or juice (watered down). Porter is happy and gaining weight so I’m not too worried. What I do love is watching Ezra get excited to nurse with Porter, that he says “Ezra’s side” and “Po-po’s side” when he’s nursing by himself at night. Some might think that a bit weird. But he’s already learning to share his most precious resource before he’s yet 2 years old. He already is learning to think of another and that’s a big deal for this mama. (He does not always watch his feet and so coupled with the lovely caring of his younger sibling regarding nursing, is the chance of kicking said sibling in the face if he’s not watching where he’s going ).

First off, let me say that breastfeeding your children — even in the US — puts you into a camp. My previous-before-children-self liked to wear high heels and talk about literature (don’t worry, that self is still in here somewhere…) while the child-bearing mama is lucky to get any makeup on and shoes that require tying are pretty much too much hassle. But back to breastfeeding. Breastfeeding, though, can seem to put one automatically into the “crunchy granola” category, especially if you do it in public (I do) and especially if you nurse your children longer than one year (I do). You see breastfeeding, or seeing someone breastfeed, tends to weird out our no-nonsense-upwardly-mobile culture. It brings us back to our roots. It’s primal. And it reminds us that humanity is intensely physical rather than purely cerebral. So it’s a weird mix for me personally as I neither fully embrace the business-savvy world of the high-heeled suit-wearing throngs and neither do I fully fit in the herb-tastic nature-mother cohort. Trying to mix the two worlds has its challenges.

When I was working as a college professor during Ezra’s first year of life, the administration graciously gave me classes solely on two days a week so that I could work from home and take care of my son the other three days a week. On my two “work” days, Ezra took bottles of expressed milk from Bryce (on his “day off”) one day and from my mom the other day. My mom would drive to campus and watch Ezra while I taught and hand him off to me during my prep times. Let me say I was so glad I could pump, but it was a bit insane. I’d rush back from a class, stacks of books in my hands, slam shut my office door, strap on my pumping paraphernalia and pump straight for the 15-minutes I’d have between classes. Sometimes I could do this while looking over notes for the following class and praying that I wouldn’t leak all over my fancy work clothes. It was an odd juxtaposition: working lactating mother.

My own experience has lead me to consider how our society views breastfeeding mothers. What disturbs me the most is those who consider it unnatural or weird, that view breasts as only instruments of sexual arousal rather than as sources of nourishment and comfort. Consider one example: an article in The Gospel and Culture Project, “Is the Church Threatened by Breastfeeding?“, discusses the need for the Church (as one institution) to promote breastfeeding rather than sexualizing a normal experience.

That moment of anxiety in the pew stands as a metonym for all the ways in which our culture objectifies, commodifies and exploits women’s bodies for sexual pleasure and financial gain. The church that is afraid of breastfeeding has allowed culture to dictate the meaning of female sexuality.

I’ve quoted the final paragraph before on this blog, but it bears repeating:

Perhaps there is no better reason for churches to encourage nursing than for the mother herself, enabling her to integrate the physical with the spiritual, and the ordinary with the transcendent. It may be the only time all week she can slow down and listen to God. We need her, but she needs us even more.

If you breastfeed, what have your experiences been nursing in public? How do we get American culture to value the breastfeeding mother?

My start breastfeeding began when Ezra was born in August 2007. I was worried most of my entire pregnancy that I wouldn’t be able to produce enough milk. Ezra was little, 6 lbs 5 oz at term, and born via c-section. It was not the rosy start I had wanted to motherhood. Because of my long labor and eventual surgery, I was exhausted and out of it from the post-op narcotic and felt disembodied watching Bryce bathe and take care of Ezra in his first hour or two of life. I couldn’t marvel at this new life, I just wanted to sleep. It was breastfeeding that allowed me to bond with my son. As much as we had a challenging beginning (see below), I began to feel I had something to offer him as his mother when I breastfed him. It allowed me to slow down and look at this little being recently born into the world. To ponder him and get to know him. And to feel that he needed me.

Due to my c-section, my milk didn’t come in until the 5th day. This meant Ezra was screaming by day three for milk. I pumped and pumped and pumped between feedings. He was losing weight so we finally agreed to supplement with formula so we could leave the hospital. The first week home, I nursed every 2 to 2.5 hours, then pumped for 20 minutes while Bryce or my mom fed him a bottle of formula or expressed milk. I felt like a jersey cow and I was exhausted. After the first week he was just getting my milk and after the second week we gave up the bottles as he was gaining well. I remember being so nervous whenever they put him on the scale at the doctor’s office, hoping he’d gained enough.

The relief of being able to simply put my baby to my breast and know that he was getting enough nourishment, that he was gaining well, was beautiful. I never had latch problems or major blisters or bleeding nipples (beyond the first few days). I never had excruciating pain that some women have. Breastfeeding helped to redeem my birth experience and help me begin to love my son.

So we kept at it. Ezra turns two in a few weeks and we’re still breastfeeding, in fact. It hurt like the dickens to nurse during pregnancy but I just couldn’t imagine requiring such a little one (my kids are just 19 months apart) to be cut off from his primary mode of connection and comfort when things were already crazy with his mama’s growing belly and fatigue. When he had the stomach flu, nursing was the only thing that got calories into him he wouldn’t throw up. When we have moved twice already in his short life, nursing helps to ground him. When my colostrum came in during my 3rd trimester, Ezra suddenly gained a few pounds. When my milk came in in full force after Porter’s birth, Ezra will ask to nurse with “Po-po” and Porter will look into Ezra’s eyes and Ezra will hold Porter’s hand while they each nurse. It’s beautiful. I think it will make them each more compassionate.

I asked Ezra recently if he’d rather give up nursing or his binkies when he turns 2. He said his binkies. So we’ll continue to nurse a bit before nap and bedtimes and when he needs it on occasion. Although most Americans wean at 1, we’ve now gone much further than most moms do; though when children wean on their own in other cultures it is generally not until at least age 3. I’ll perhaps write more about social stigmas and breastfeeding, but for now let me simply mention, that breastfeeding a baby, infant and into toddlerhood and even beyond is nowhere near abnormal on a global scale. It not only provides added fats and immunities, but it helps me — even now — to stop and breathe and savor the little boy I’ve been given.

(Other posts in the queue: The Porter Story; Breastfeeding and the Public Square; and a post full of links)