Two weeks from today, Westley will wake up in the morning and want to nurse, and I won't be home to nurse him. Going to Massachusetts alone to spend some much-needed vacation time with some much-missed friends means taking my breasts on vacation with me. To say that I'm having mixed feelings about this doesn't begin scratch the surface.
Until very recently, I would have welcomed an iron-clad excuse not to nurse with open arms. And the possible forced weaning situation that could result? Wouldn't have given it a second thought. Oh, well, I would have thought. If this puts an end to the nursing, no problem. Because breastfeeding--and continuing to breastfeed--is one of the hardest things I've ever done, period. I read all the time about mothers for whom breastfeeding is a lovely, natural, easy way to bond with their babies and they cherish doing it, but that was not my experience. From the beginning, it was work.
I never doubted for a moment that I would breastfeed my baby. But it never occurred to me that I might not love it instantly--or ever. However, when I breastfed and hated it and stuck with it and hated it, I never felt like I could quit. (Which is not to say I didn't think about quitting a million times. I remember one very tearful conversation with my mother in particular, wherein I said I wanted to quit breastfeeding and she said she'd support whatever decision I made, and I very angrily accused her of lying, because she's as pro-breastfeeding as they come. It was not a good scene.) Breastfeeding was non-optional in my mind. The Feminist Breeder puts it best when she says:
I would have switched Westley to formula in a heartbeat if I believed that doing so was the best thing (or even a neutral thing) for everyone in question. I don't think formula is poison. But I do think that for a woman in my position--a woman who is physically able to breastfeed with a baby physically able to be breastfed, a woman who is not returning to work immediately, a woman who is surrounded by supportive-of-breastfeeding people--there is no choice. There is a right answer and a wrong answer.
So I moved forward, one feeding at a time, trying to take comfort in my right answer and quietly hating it.
Then...
...and now.
Flash forward a year and a half, and I've turned a corner. A huge one. I haven't been on a real vacation since the last time I went to the beach with my girlfriends, two years ago. And all I can think with this trip coming up is, I won't get to nurse him for almost a week.
Did you hear that thought-bubble? Get to. Where did the woman who was all ready to form an "I Hate Breastfeeding" support group? I really have no idea what happened, except to say that maybe Westley's passion for nursing rubbed off on me. God knows there were enough opportunities for that to happen. (Someone really should start that support group, though. Just picture all of the Breastfeeding Sucks! bumper stickers.)
Of course, nursing a toddler is a lot different than nursing a baby. I know some people are skeeved out by toddlers nursing, and I think they need to get over it because it's awesome. Breastfeeding a child who can ask for it using words and says "mmm" appreciatively afterwards is oddly rewarding. He smiles and makes lovey-dovey eyes at me because I have "molk" for him, and all I have to do is sit there. Admittedly, it's not my favorite thing when Westley pops off my nipple to ask, "Dada?" ("Daddy's at work right now, honey.") Or when we pass a display of molded-cup bras in a store and he points and loudly says, "molk." But when he grabs my ponytail while he nurses and proceeds to stick it in my mouth on purpose so I'll make spitting noises at him? That completely rules.
If going away for five days--that's fifteen nursing sessions--results in weaning, I'll be more than a little let down (buh-dum, chhhh!). I suffered through breastfeeding for a long time, and I feel like I should get at least a few months of enjoying it under my belt before weaning even comes up. Besides, Westley is certainly in no hurry to wean, and he gets a bigger vote than I do.
So I'm packing my hand pump along with my swimsuit and my sunscreen. I know that realistically, regardless of what happens with the nursing, everything will be fine. If my milk dries up, it dries up. Sad, but oh, well. I'm hoping the hand pump works out, though. If nothing else, my bras will fit a little better if I de-milkify my boobs first thing in the morning. What I haven't figured out is what I'm going to do with the expressed milk, if I get any. I can't easily bring it back home with me. And there's no way in hell I'm pouring it out. Drinking it myself seems like taking the whole pro-breastfeeding thing a little too far, though.
Maybe I'll just put it on my cereal.
