Two Years, Three Months, and Two Weeks

I nursed Violet every day of it. Some almost every hour, and others – especially recently – only once. Until two days ago, when for the first time, she didn’t nurse at all.

Neither of us was ready, but complications with my current pregnancy didn’t leave us much choice. Following a diagnosis of complete placenta previa, the OB into whose care I was transferred advised me to wean Violet no later than 28 weeks into the pregnancy, when the risk of a “catastrophic bleeding event” caused by uterine contractions (which can be triggered by nursing and other forms of nipple stimulation) increased significantly. I gave it a lot of thought, and a good teeth gnashing, and ultimately agreed.

It was a gradual process, which we began by slowly eliminating nursing at specific times (middle of the night, first thing in the morning, naptime) until bedtime was the only time of the day we’d nurse. Violet still asked to nurse outside of bedtime, but was generally quick to accept snuggling with Mama or Daddy as a substitute. As we approached the 28 week mark, we talked with Violet about when we would stop nursing entirely for a while. Each time, she would solemnly consent to forego nursing when the date we’d set arrived – and then smile at me and say “I wan’ nurse, Mama.”

And finally, Thursday, when she asked to nurse before bed, I had to tell her that we couldn’t. I reminded her that Mama’s body needed to take a break from nursing, and that I needed her to help me take care of my body by not nursing. She was understandably upset with me, and sent me away to fetch her Daddy so she could snuggle with him and go to sleep.

Last night, as we read books in her bed, I steeled myself for the tears I was sure were soon to come, when we finally turned out the lights and I’d hear the inevitable “I wan’ nurse, Mama,” – or worse, the pleading, “Mama, nurse me . . .” And it came, and I said no, and offered to snuggle instead. She asked again, and again I told her we couldn’t nurse, but I was happy to snuggle her. And this time she said, “I wan’ snuggle, Mama,” nestled herself as close as she could to me, and drifted off to sleep peacefully just a little while later.

I’m so proud of her and the way she’s accepted this throughout the process. And I’m glad that we are doing everything we can to keep her baby sister safe right now. But I’m also more than a little heartbroken that I’m not able to nurse her any longer, when it’s so important to her. To both of us, really. Her tears are not the only ones that have been shed these past few days.

Nursing has been such a big part of our relationship, and Violet and I have loved every stage of it. She latched on just minutes after being born (with the help of our doula, Jennifer), and nursing remained her favorite pasttime for a long time. Eric and I loved watching her nurse as a newborn; she always kept her tiny fists clenched close to her chest, a la Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. (We might admit to whispering “precious, my precious” to her often in those early days.) We nursed anywhere and everywhere – even walking through the streets of our neighborhood, Violet cradled to my chest in the Rockin’ Baby pouch I sported so often when she was small.

Violet was always a devoted nurser. When she started daycare at three months old, she staunchly refused to take breastmilk from a bottle or any other source. For months, I’d nurse her when I dropped her off, return at lunch, and then pick her up as early as possible, scooping her up to nurse as soon as I made it through the door. In between, she may have been hungry, but she never fussed, she just waited until I was with her again. (And reverse-cycled – meaning she ate often throughout the night – to make up the difference.) She fell asleep nursing in my arms after her first birthday party. When she was sick, or hurt, or tired, nursing always made it better. She fell asleep nursing in my arms after her first birthday party, and kept nursing through toddlerhood – complete with all the crazy nursing acrobatics that came with that stage. And she nursed to sleep every night for nearly two years. (At that point, she was still nursing at bedtime, it just didn’t always lull her to sleep!)

And now . . . we aren’t nursing anymore. I hesitate to say Violet is weaned, because I’ve promised her she can nurse again after her baby sister is here if she’s still interested, and I honestly don’t know whether she will be or not by then. For now, though, we’re both getting used to not nursing each night. Tonight, after we finished our last book, she told me she wanted to nurse. I told her again that we couldn’t nurse, but we could snuggle. And she said, “Okay. I wan’ snuggle.” And so I curled myself around her, wrapped my arm around her chest the way she likes, and snuggled her close as she drifted off to sleep.

I do miss nursing her, already, but I’m grateful for all of the days we were able to share that, and grateful to see that this new phase of motherhood is just as sweet as the last. And while I can’t speak for Violet, I think she is also at peace.