Lydia was weaned a few days ago, at a year and a few weeks old. I am unbelievably proud of myself. I recognize that not all women can or should breastfeed, so don't think I'm going to spend this post bashing those who don't breastfeed their children. I just want to explain why I am proud of myself.
I never wanted to be a mother. Somewhere in my teenage years, I began to equate motherhood with a total loss of self. The creative mind would become used up on endless cooking, cleaning, bathing, diaper changing. Happiness and self esteem would be the next casualties, after loss of a mind for anything useful. Oh yes. And the body would be sacrificed as well, from pregnancy to breastfeeding.
When I found out I was pregnant with Lydia, I was initially happy. My mind had changed significantly through the years, and a baby was something both Ryan and I wanted. Soon after, however, my teenage thoughts re-entered my adult mind. I began to resent the little creature growing inside me, sapping my strength, and submitting me to an endless life in the doldrums once the "thing" was born. I decided I would give my body to this alien for 9 months since the deed was already done, but it was not getting any more from me. I was most decidedly NOT going to breast feed.
My obsessive need to plan every detail of my life led me to many pregnancy forums, email lists, and websites during those nine months. Somewhere around my sixth month, the emails flooding my inbox began talking about breastfeeding. I scanned them, not expecting to get anything from them. Then, I read about the miracle of breast milk. A mother's body changes the formula of the breastmilk according to the needs of the baby. In the morning, the baby gets different nutrients than at night. If the baby is sick, the mother's body knows how to adjust in order to give the appropriate nutrients for that sickness. And if the mother is sick, she passes on antibodies for that sickness to her baby through her breastmilk.
All of a sudden, my mother bear instinct kicked in for this little baby girl inside of me. I don't know why, but these articles made me realize that this child I had been resenting suddenly belonged to ME and I loved her. My baby was going to get a healthy start and I was going to provide it for her. I knew I was going to breastfeed her. I didn't think I would last very long, but I was going to at least try.
Once I made the decision, I became nervous about learning to breastfeed and worried I wouldn't be able to do it. So I prayed and read books about breastfeeding. A lot. And I was blessed with dreams and calming moments that told me I would be successful if I wanted to be.
When little Lydia was born, and they handed her to me to breastfeed her, the nurse immediately began telling me how to do it. I followed her instructions because she was hovering over me, but it just didn't feel right. After a minute, I tried it the way I instinctively knew to do. It was a success! Ryan had been on the phone with grandparents while I was doing this, and he tells me that when he turned around and saw me with Lydia, he was amazed at how natural I was.
By that point, I was not amazed. I was, however, amazed that I was not amazed. Up until her birth, I worried about my abilities to be a mother and a caretaker. But as soon as she entered my world, those fears disappeared. As soon as I saw her, I knew she was meant for me.
So now that Lydia is 1 and 3 weeks old and finally weaned, I feel I have made it. I can do this mother thing that I've been doing for 1 year and 3 weeks. And I can be good at it.
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