For six years, my body couldn’t make babies and it couldn’t keep them when I did. After five embryo transfers and two miscarriages, I finally stayed pregnant with my daughter.
I may have struggled to bring her into the world, but breastfeeding was something both of us could do and could do well. My infertility definitely had something to do with the desperation I felt to succeed at breastfeeding. I would have switched to formula if the need arose, of course, but this was something so important for me to be able to do. I knew I wanted to nurse for at least a year, but I was secretly hoping for two.
We nursed through growth spurts, illnesses, sleep regressions, teething, and tantrums. When she was upset, I nursed her. When we both needed a breather from family gatherings, I nursed her. During the times I didn’t know what to do with her, I nursed her. When we passed her first birthday, I was elated. Then the second birthday passed in what seemed like no time at all, and still, we were nursing.
When we approached her third year, my husband and I started gearing up for another fertility treatment. I had known for several months that I needed to be done breastfeeding and the thought of it was tearing me up. Yes, I had almost three years to cherish it, but it wasn’t my choice to end, and judging by my daughter’s enthusiasm, it wasn’t hers either.
Other mums nursed right through a pregnancy, but I was told I needed to stop due to medications and hormone levels for our upcoming embryo transfer. I think that’s what was getting to me the most — like my years spent trying to conceive, the choices that others had over their family-building were ones that were dictated for me by doctors.
I always thought I would know what my last day of nursing was. I tried to take photos periodically to capture that last moment if it was indeed the end. None of that happened. When we ended, it was silent, unceremoniously, no big deal. She took it well, only asking to nurse with me several times over the next few weeks as my pregnancy was confirmed and the morning sickness started. Eventually, those questions stopped and she no longer asked for it.
Read the rest of this article over at Kidspot.
Oh momma — I feel ya! My oldest daughter nursed for the first 20 months of her life, gave up while I was pregnant with her brother (surprise pregnancy after IVF for her), then started up again about 2 weeks after he was born – acted like she had never given it up. She continued until she was 5. I knew in my heart we needed to stop, but the connection was what kept me going and so we just kept going. Even now, a year + later, she will sometimes still ask for “milkie” and to “see if there is any milkie left”. And it breaks my heart when I have to tell her no. I wish I had magic words to help with your grief, but I don’t…
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I love it. Olivia would have definitely kept going if I let her, but now her latch isn’t there anymore. So… no bueno.
Such a beautiful description of a very precious time. Wishing you a similarly joyful experience with Q x
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Thanks, Jen. I hope so!
Breastfeeding was something I struggled with in the beginning but after a difficult start, it was been going really well since and I love it. Mini is almost a year and a half now and I feel sad at the thought of when we might stop as it is such a nice bonding thing between the two of us.
Author
I know I didn’t struggle as much as others in the beginning, but whew, it was rough. You kind of forget about how hard it was because it just becomes so easy after awhile.