CARNIVAL POST- My nursing toddler story

**This post is part of a collection of posts for the Carnival of Breastfeeding series: "This is what a nursing toddler looks like." Mine will be a little different than most. It is one that my 11 year old, long since weaned, helped me put together. Hope you enjoy it and I hope you will click on some of the links at the end of my post to read the articles submit by other writers.**

If you’ve read any of my posts before this one then you will know that I breastfed both of my children beyond their first year. I have to preface everything that I write with a note about the fact that I have been blessed with a life partner who sees the benefits of extended breastfeeding and understands that our role as parents is to create the safest, most emotionally stable and healthiest environment possible for our children. There was never any question or pause for alarm when breastfeeding our eldest child extended beyond the maternity leave that many of my peers used as a guide.

As I sit to write this post, for the “This Is What A Nursing Toddler Looks Like” Carnival my eldest child, Ferg, sits across the table and recounts his memories of breastfeeding. Funny, I wasn’t sure he even remembered his breastfeeding experience although he was well past three when he decided he was finished.

I didn’t know what I would write as a contribution for this Carnival. Last month I used an old article but this time I wanted to write something new, something fresh. The challenge, as many of you know, is finding a new way of saying something you have tried to tell people before. So, this time how about I try it from his perspective?

He sits with his warm beverage in his hand and I ask him if he remembers breastfeeding. “Sure,” he tells me, “some of it.” Ferg was three years and about eight months old when he weaned himself. I don’t remember the exact date of the last time he nursed but I suspect that it was around the middle of the month. We had had a death of a child in our circle of friends and I wasn’t coping particularly well. It wouldn’t surprise me if my very wise little man knew that I needed some space. He is just that kind of child.

I ask him what he remembers best and “fun” is the word that rolls off his tongue. I’ll be honest that’s not what I expected him to say. “Fun” was never a word I would have thought to use to describe our intimate and private relationship but, I remind myself, I am not a child and am not used to looking at the world through a child’s eyes.

He goes on to explain what he meant when he used the word “fun.” “It was fun because I got to do one of my favourite things, snuggle with my mom,” (and BTW Ferg’s primary love language is touch) he told me with a warm smile, “and because it felt like we got to eat from a magical food supply.” When describing this last bit further he remarks upon the reality that the breasts only release the milk when a child is latched properly and is actively nursing, otherwise the milk stays inside. Fair enough. I know that I knew it to be “magical” but I never thought about my children thinking of it in the same way.

He smiles broadly and makes sure I know that he thinks, “breastmilk is the tastiest and most nutritious food there is.” He then sits back and offers a list of benefits to breastfeeding that he can think of off the top of his head: “it bonds a mother and her kid, it allows mom to relax while she is breastfeeding her baby, protects her against that bone thing you talked about . . . “ “Osteoporosis?” “Um, yeah. That. And it’s a portable food supply.”

He then goes back to doing what he was doing before this conversation even started and I continue reviewing articles about benefits to moms and babies when extended breastfeeding is offered. I feel as though I am missing something. Never mind, I am sure it will come.

My mind drifts to a conversation Ferg and I had about 6 months ago. I don’t remember the specifics about how this particular discussion began but I do remember that he was quite certain that he would someday find a life partner and become a father and that his own children would be breastfed. I reminded him that he couldn’t force that to happen and that he would need to have a long talk with his partner about what her choices were before making such broad statements. “What if she doesn’t want to breastfeed,” I asked cautiously?

“Well, I wouldn’t have babies with her then.”

“How do you know?”

“I would talk to her about it when we first start dating. So she knows how important it is to breastfeed a baby.”

Uh oh. What had I done? I could see women racing away from our house in packs.

Then I sat back and recalled a story that my friend, T, had told me about her own son. He had had similar feelings about breastfeeding and he had spoken about these feelings, while VERY early in his relationship, with the woman he eventually married. Each of their babies was not only breastfed, but each child was offered the opportunity to wean when he or she was ready. Okay, there was hope for Ferg after all.

He turns back to me and with a grin tells me about one of his favourite breastfeeding memories. “It was dark and dad was sleeping in the bed beside us. I was nursing and so was Quinn. You were looking after both of us.”

So, perhaps the benefits of breastfeeding beyond infancy are not simply physiologic for mom and for her chid. Perhaps they are psychological too. And perhaps, when the nursing pillow is put away, those memories and feelings are the best of all of the benefits that we can leave our children with.

Posted by Sam

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