Nursing

Two weeks ago, my baby turned 18 months old. Two weeks ago, I stopped nursing him. Two weeks ago, after I put my baby to bed, I sobbed while my husband held me in his arms and told me it would be okay.

Each baby has been nursed a little bit longer than his previous sibling. Not a conscious act - it just happened that way based on circumstances in our lives at that particular time. I was completely comfortable nursing my baby at 18 months. Just once a day, in the evening right before bedtime. It was our wind-down time. (Occasionally, if he had a really rough time in church, I'd nurse him just to help him get through the final hour of sacrament meeting.)

Please excuse me here while I reminisce and become emotional . . .

Nursing was rough for us at first. He nursed right after birth like a champ, and nursed so often that I finally had to ask a nurse to feed him a bottle during our hospital stay because the colostrum just wasn't enough for him. Plus, I was sore. A few days later, my milk came in with a vengeance. I was so full and hard that he couldn't nurse, and found his meals more frequently coming from a bottle.

I was heartbroken. I'm that woman that absolutely loves nursing. I love the pull of their lips, the pouts and the sighs and the grunts as my babies nurse. I love watching them, and catching their eye and having them pull off just long enough to give me a milky grin, then it's right back down to business.

Listening to Connor cry in the dr.'s office after his circumcision was so painful. I was rock hard, and he was hungry and needed comfort and I couldn't give him any milk. He couldn't latch on. I cried right along with him. I asked Brandon for a blessing when we got home, but still ended up giving him a bottle. After the boys were in bed, I was desperate, so turned to Google to see if I could find some answers.

I did, and I was able to nurse him again. It was an answer to prayers, and I have thanked my Heavenly Father so many times for that wonderful gift. The answer to my question of how to get him to nurse just leapt off the screen, and I cried again.

Then, a few months later, he got a bad diaper rash. Then his whole body broke out into a rash. We visited the dr. (not our normal doctor) who told us to wash his body with Head and Shoulders shampoo. That his skin was just really dry and the shampoo would help. It didn't.

We went back to our normal doctor who prescribed us several creams, and some strong hydrocortisone ointment to put on him daily. It helped. Until we ran out of cream and then the rash came back. It got to the point where his skin was literally peeling off his body. We went back to the dr. and I asked for allergy testing. They denied it, saying that they didn't do allergy testing in infants that young. I didn't care. At that point, I demanded it, and they finally complied.

Four weeks later (after many, many phone calls to the allergist) we learned he was allergic to dairy. I immediately cut out all dairy from my diet, and within a few weeks he was better.

Because of his allergies, I took my eating seriously. I made sure I didn't eat dairy, and if I did it was in tiny amounts, and never back to back. His is not what they consider a severe allergy, so if it's cooked into items such as breads or cookies, he does fine. However, if he touches milk he breaks out into a rash and blisters.

For over a year, I nursed him without eating chocolate or dairy. I loved it, but gradually comments started filtering in. Things like, "Aren't you done yet?" Or, "He's over a year, isn't he? Why are you still nursing?" Or, "I couldn't do it. I'd just want my body back." The thing is, these people didn't understand how much we both loved it. At times, I got really frustrated with these (well meaning) people, and I'd turn to Brandon and ask his opinion. He was always 100% supportive of me nursing for however long I wanted.

I finally decided that 18 months was probably the time, even though I didn't want to stop. That day came, and I was super emotional. I nursed him twice that day - once in the morning and then again right before bed. I laid him down, then went back downstairs with Brandon and fell into his arms just sobbing.

I finally realized why I was so emotional. He wasn't a baby anymore. He's possibly (probably, if you ask Brandon) our last one, so it was somewhat hard for me to know that I might have just nursed for the very last time. (Plus, he's not typically a cuddler, so that was my time to cuddle with him.)

I've struggled in the two weeks since then. (I'm crying right now as I type this.) There have been many times where I just want to sit down with him and nurse him. He's missed it too, I can tell. When he's stressed or tired, he'll pull at my shirt. It takes everything I've got not to give in and nurse him. I have to keep reminding myself that it wouldn't be healthy for him right now, since I have introduced dairy back into my diet. But, still, I miss it, even though I know it's fine to stop. He's old enough, and I feel blessed to have been able to nurse him at all.

I guess this long, rambling post is just to remind me about our journey. I can't believe he's 18 months old already. It went by too fast. He's supposed to still be a little baby - not a toddler. I'm going to blink tomorrow and he'll be ten, and going into 5th grade, and I'm going to feel old and be sad. So, I'm going to try to cherish this time I have with him and love him when he's still little.