The end of a journey.

If you would have asked me a week ago how long I thought I'd nurse G, I would have chuckled. I would have said that it was good that we were hoping that he'd come to my school for kindergarten because when his class had snack, he could come to my room for a quick nursing sesh. I kid. I do. But the child was seemingly obsessed.

Every night, without fail, he'd sign "milk" to request to nurse. If he was overtired on the weekends, he'd ask to nurse. Often, he still asked during the day, if he was hungry. Upset. Overstimulated. Boyfriend loved him some nursing.

And then, about a week ago, I noticed that he was no longer nursing to sleep. He'd nurse for two minutes, tops, on one side, say, "aw-duh" (all done), sign "more," nurse on the other side for a minute or so, then announce again that he was "aw-duh." And he'd toddle off.

His sleep was getting even worse, too, which I didn't think was even possible.

So I followed his signs, as well as my readiness to be done, and one night this week, as I was rocking him before bed, he halfheartedly signed "milk." I noticed it was different...he almost seemed like he didn't mean it. It was one-handed and just seemed blase. So I didn't say no, but I ignored it, cuddled him up tighter, kept singing and rocking, and he didn't ask again.

I was shocked. In the past, he would ask repeatedly to nurse, even smacking me if I would deny him. But this night, he just went to sleep.

I was instantly relieved, and then felt guilt for said relief. Shouldn't I be crying over the end of this journey? That this 16 and 1/2 month journey had come to a possible end? I figured that he'd ask the next night anyway, and went to sleep. (Side note: later that night, he woke up crying, and B and I did some tandem modified sleep training for 45 minutes. Afterwards, he slept through the night. If you follow my blog, you know that is nothing short of miraculous.)

The last two nights he didn't even ask to nurse. I even tempted him one night by wearing a nursing tank when I rocked him. Sure enough, his hand went down my top and I thought surely he'd ask, but he just snuggled up and went to sleep.

It was like he didn't realize that it was an option not to nurse. And once he did, he found that he preferred the choice to snuggle and rock and sing.

And? He has slept through the night every night since. It could be a coincidence, or solely related to the sleep training, but I'm not convinced.

Regardless, we've reached the end of our proverbial journey. And I'm happy to say that it's such a peaceful ending. It's like coming home after a fantastic vacation...I wouldn't have given up my time on the journey for anything, but it's always nice to come home to your own bed.

Namaste.

My Lactation Proclamation

There are some things I don't talk much about on my blog.

For one, my marriage. I have talked about B from time to time, but he's extremely private and although he doesn't read my blog, I know if I said too much, he'd be very embarrassed.

And my church and faith. It's a new-ish journey for me, one about which I am extraordinarily excited. I love the messages at my church so much that if I had time, I'd start a second blog to talk about those. Someday. But for the most part, I believe in separation of church and blog.

The third thing is something that I'm ready to discuss today.

My name is Gina, and I'm an extended breastfeeder.

G is almost 14 months old, and we are still going strong. Before G, I couldn't wrap my mind around extended breastfeeding.

My breastfeeding journey with L was very short-lived, and looking back, I would be willing to bet that that was partially due to food allergies (yes, I do believe that he had food allergies as an infant). I pumped enough that he had at least one bottle of breastmilk a day for almost 5 months. Two nurses told me that I had to stop. We were both miserable and although there are still days that I feel some guilt for stopping when I did, I am mostly at peace with the road we traveled.

And then there's G.

Two weeks ago, I would have told you that we were down to one session a day. I still nursed G to sleep, but we'd finally cut out the middle-of-the night session and everything in between. I'd have told you that the main reason for still nursing at all was because since he can't have dairy, I want to make sure that I get him the nutrition he needs through my milk.

And that was all true. Then.

In the last 18 hours, I've nursed that little man three times.

His nap schedule was all messed up yesterday and he couldn't get himself settled, plus with three molars coming in, boyfriend was a hot mess. Five minutes of nursing in the afternoon calmed his little self right down.

Then, we he can't go to bed without nursing, of course.

And when he work up at 4:45 a.m. screaming, I decided to try (and succeeded!) to get him back to sleep with the best way I know how.

Last week, three people asked, "How long are you going to nurse him?"

And you know what, I get it. Although I am of the "more power to ya" school of thought, I never in a million years thought I'd nurse to a year, much less past it. God knows that when I was engorged, with thrush, and milk blisters, and literally dipping my breasts in a homemade solution, sobbing, I didn't know how I'd make it fourteen hours, much less fourteen months.

Yet here we are. He loves it. I love it. At this point, I don't bring my nursing cover anywhere with me. Is that partially because of the stigma attached to nursing my little big baby in public? Sadly, probably. But is it also partially because we are both too busy when we are out and about to need a nursing session? Absolutely.

I know that people preach about the World Health Organization teaching that babies should nurse till 2. Frankly, I could care less about that. I am a person who makes decisions with my gut, my heart...and this is no different. For us, this is right. I know, and respect, that it's not right for other mommas. Heck, it wasn't right for L and me.

How long are we going to go? I don't know. Part of me hopes that he self-weans before too long. I have no plans, however, if he doesn't. I'm going to let things happen as they may for a while. Because although other people might feel uncomfortable about it, G and I don't. And as far as I'm concerned, regarding this situation, our comfort levels are the only ones that matter.

Namaste.

Got Milk (Blisters)?

If you follow me on Twitter, you can refrain from reading this post. I've whined more than enough today and you deserve a break.

I wasn't even going to post today. I spent the majority of the afternoon crying, and I hung out on Twitter, complaining and in pain, and didn't even open Blogger until 7:45 tonight, which is not even remotely normal.

Let me back up. I mentioned that G and I have thrush. I'd been so busy taking care of him that I forgot to apply my own cream yesterday and this afternoon, it hit me. My nipple was cracked and on fire and half my breast was hard and painful. Nursing G on that side made me cry. Hard. I ended up calling my husband at his work, one of my BFF's Laura at her work, my OB, and a lactation consultant and sobbing to all four of them. This pain was severe.

But then, I found www.kellymom.com , which another friend (and future La Leche League leader) Anna recommended.

And if I could kiss Kellymom, I would. I might switch teams for Kelly, whoever she is. I love her that much.

Because of her, I diagnosed myself with a milk blister, which is caused by thrush. I followed the directions here and followed up with the directions here and right now, I am sitting here without tears in my eyes. My pain has gone from a 10 to a 2 and I can breathe normally. I still see the blister, but milk has been pouring out since I followed my girl Kellymom's directions.

I also figured out that the milk I had pumped while I have had thrush, which I originally thought I had to throw out, can be boiled when I am ready to use it.

There is a distinct possibility that she saved me from having my doctor stick a needle in my sore nipple tomorrow, hence the whole switching teams comment.

I realize this post is way TMI. But if I can help another mama who is going through it, then discussing my willingness to choose a lesbian life partner sight unseen and describing my cracked, leaky nipples is totally worth it.

Okay, I'm done now. I promise.

The post in which I try to rationalize my vanity

On Friday, I may or may not have made the mistake of allowing G to sleep away the day.

Okay, I totally did.

But how could I disturb this sweet face?




Plus, it meant that I got to sleep away the day too.

Needless to say, I paid for it Friday night. Boyfriend was up, on average, every hour and a half.

I was really hoping to go to spin class on Saturday morning but after the night I had, there was no way I could have made it through my class. In fact, I woke up Saturday morning and promptly burst into tears. I was absolutely exhausted. This isn't the first or the last time I'll say this...breastfeeding isn't easy. And a rough night can put a tired mommy over the edge.

So when my husband said, "G, you can stop anytime, you know," I'd be lying if I said that for a split second, I didn't consider it. However, immediately, I said that I wanted to continue. I reminded him of the money we are saving on formula, simply because I knew that that was the best way to keep my cheap frugal husband from ever asking me again if I wanted to quit nursing.

On Saturday afternoon, when I realized that G and I both had thrush, the frustration peaked again. Because if you have ever had an itchy, burning yeast infection, you might be able to imagine it on your nipples. That's what thrush is for a breastfeeding mama.

But I wasn't quite ready to quit.

And then, yesterday, when I was feeling down and out and exhausted, it occurred to me that my sweatpants were falling off of me. And I decided to try them on.

You know.

My prepregnancy jeans.

I found a pair that weren't too terribly small and said a little prayer.

I pulled them over my legs. So far, so good.

Up and over my hips. This was way easier than I thought.

I wiggled around a little, and buttoned them. And zipped them. And looked in the mirror to find that they fit...with plenty of room!

Then I did what any giddy mama would do...I plastered it all over Twitter and Facebook. I may or may not have sent a text to my friend and soon-to-be-trainer, proclaiming my good news. And there is a possibility that I made both B and L check me out as I sashayed around. Okay, I totally did.

I know I was a bit ridiculous, especially considering my belly still hangs over the waistband and I have back fat to boot.. But you guys...it took three times this long after L was born to be able to fit into my non-maternity jeans.

And if it motivates me to keep on keepin' on when G screams when I am not holding him, even when he is in his daddy's arms, and I'm forced to type blog posts with one hand while he eats for the sixth time in four hours...

then I'm going to celebrate fitting into my jeans.

Namaste.

Nursing Notions

Three and a half years ago, L was born. I wanted to breastfeed him, and the first few days started off fairly well.

Then, we came home from the hospital and my milk came in. L ate fine, but screamed between feedings, almost non-stop. He had fairly severe jaundice and a nurse had to come over to check his blood. She insisted that I supplement with formula. Reluctantly, I took her advice, which resulted in a very happy L. I had a really hard time figuring out how much breastmilk/formula to give him but I tried. It was going...okay. I was anxious, overwhelmed, and starting to feel depressed, but I was trying.

And then my beloved puppy died unexpectedly at 18 months of a heart attack.

And my twice-a-day tearfests turned into twice an hour. People tell me now that I was somewhat of a zombie when they came to visit and I remember feeling that way.

My struggle with breastfeeding came to a head, and another nurse who I called for help agreed when I worried aloud that perhaps nursing my baby wasn't the best choice.

"Babies are only happy when their mommas are happy," she explained.

So I pumped and pumped and pumped for several weeks. I had enough milk in my freezer so that L got at the very least, one big bottle of breastmilk every day for almost five months.

And for the past 3 and 1/2 years, I have felt so guilty. I was sure that L's food allergies and weak immune system were because of my choice to stop breastfeeding. Even though I felt significantly better mentally upon stopping breastfeeding, I was racked with guilt whenever anyone even mentioned breastfeeding.

Now I am breastfeeding G, and loving it. I thought that by breastfeeding him, my guilt about not breastfeeding L would increase. But the oddest thing has happened. My guilt over that has disappeared.

I realize how difficult it is. It's hard. And looking back, I realize there was no way I could have done it with L. My puppy had died. I was overwhelmed. Depressed. My anxiety at that time was still a major issue. I had to return to work, full-time, about seven weeks after L was born.

Could I have done it with some extra support? Maybe. Maybe not.

G is an awesome breastfeeder. He loves it...he gets satisfied quickly (often too quickly, as I'm struggling with him falling asleep after 10 minutes), and more than once, has burped loudly, smiled, and fallen asleep on my chest. Cutest. Thing. Ever.

That being said, it's not easy. He is a frequent eater, thanks to that whole falling asleep thing. (Yes, I've tried tickling his feet, blowing in his face, taking breaks for a diaper change, stripping him down...he just loves to sleep like his mommy.) So for the first week and a half, he wanted to eat every hour and a half. That means by the time I finished feeding him, burped him, changed him, settled him back in his bouncy chair where he sleeps, and settled myself back to bed, I got maybe 20 minutes of sleep before he was stirring again. For a girl who needs 9-10 hours of sleep to feel good, it was the hardest thing I'd ever done. And somehow, I loved it.

I couldn't have done it before. I wasn't strong enough...physically, emotionally, mentally...and that's okay. Looking back, I realize that L probably had food allergies as an infant. He puked constantly, even before I started supplementing with formula. The formula didn't cause any problems. Would he have been healthier if I breastfed? Maybe. But I could. not. do. it.

That's not to say that women who can't or don't breastfeed are weak. It means that it's not for everyone. And no one should feel pressured to nurse their baby if they can't. Or won't. If they say it's too hard and they don't even want to try, they shouldn't receive a guilt trip. Mamas know themselves best and should be respected for doing what they can, and knowing their limits.

Do I think that breastfeeding is best for G and me? Abso-freakin-lutely. I'd love to nurse him for a year. I love the bond that it's given us. I love the fact that he got the five day cold that L got and on day 2, he's basically over it. And I love it for selfish reasons. I love not washing bottles. I love not having to gag from the smell of stinky formula. I love not having to spend $25 on a can of Gentlease. I love seeing my belly shrink an incredible amount each day. I love knowing that I am providing nutrition for my baby in the most natural, beautiful way possible.

I really am pro-breastfeeding.

For me and G. And for everyone else for whom it works. And for those people, and those people only, breast is best.

Please excuse me while I go snuggle up to my little man and nurse him. There's nothing else in the world quite like it.