Will he be nursing in college?

Before I had children, I wasn't even sure that I would breastfeed. Now, as mother to a 3 1/2 year old and 9 month old, I find myself having transformed slowly into what's known as a "lactivist" - a breastfeeding activist. When I was newly married, and children were a distant idea on the horizon, I had a breast reduction. I knew the risks included a decrease in milk production, but I had so many body image issues relating to my disproportionate breast size that I couldn't imagine wanting to use them for anything worthwhile. I prepared my husband in the months prior to Sir H's birth that he was not to be pushy about my choice to breast or bottle feed. Having no personal opinion, he quickly agreed (I'm sure that a nine-months pregnant behemoth full of hormones, cycling quickly between crying and howling with laughter had nothing to do with his quick acquiescence).

Then, I birthed a miracle. The first thing I saw was a tiny, perfectly formed hand reaching toward the sky, fingers splayed, attached to a wiry arm locked tight at the elbow, and slowly starting to grasp, grasp, grasp. Everything else disappeared, it was just me and this person that I needed to touch, hold, feed, now, now, now. When he turned his head toward my chest, it was the most natural thing in the world to feed him from my breast.

Though my feelings immediately changed, and I became more than committed to breastfeeding him, our bodies had other plans. Between latching issues and destroyed nipples from terrible nursing advice from young nurses, we were presented with an immediate challenge. We supplemented from the beginning, with a few ounces of formula, after every nursing session, due to the fact of my breast reduction. We had no idea if my body was capable of making enough milk, and I was too afraid to wait and see. Then, when Sir H was ten days old, he contracted RSV. As a result, he was unable to breathe when nursing, which further heightened our troubles. I wanted nothing more than to feed this baby with the best food possible, and emotionally, I wanted to succeed at the first job I had ever had as a mother. Our struggles continued for months. I had to switch over to a hospital grade rented pump while my body healed, and could only pump enough milk to feed Sir H half the time, so he got formula the other half. My husband often found me, bent over breastfeeding books, trying to analyze what I was doing wrong. He would hear the sound of my sobbing down the hall and know it was time to come take the book away and reassure me that I was doing my best. My heart was breaking. When I fed Sir H a bottle, I actively loathed it. I hated touching the formula, I resented it with every fiber of my being. I couldn't feed him a bottle without tears dripping all over my sweet babe's face, so my husband had to take over bottle duty, while I sobbed and pumped downstairs.

The good news is that we perservered, and after going through pumps, bottles, formula and nipple shields, Sir H and I finally figured it out, and from 12 weeks on, he was exclusively breastfed. Yay! I still count that as the thing I am most proud of in my entire life. Forget college graduation, never mind the young people I counseled, I made my baby get FAT! When The Bear arrived, I prayed that we would have smooth sailing from the beginning, and wouldn't you know? That kid and I were made for this. He latched beautifully, and I was so much less anxious, and it's been a dream. The Bear is 9 months old, and while he's managed to grab a bite or two off our plates, he's still exclusively breastfed. If you wonder why we're delaying solids, it's a combination of things: allergy reduction, gut flora health, greater protection from illness, the list is long.

I tell you all this to give you a peek into my growth as a lactivist. When you work that hard for something that important, there's nothing that can or should possibly get in the way of seeing it to its completion. And for many mothers, the completion of the breastfeeding relationship doesn't simply end when the child can "ask for it", or when he gets teeth (another piece of "popular wisdom" which is neither wise nor particularly popular). It's when we decide. When the child and the mother are ready. Some moms are ready at a year. I certainly wasn't with Sir H. He decided to be finished at 16 months, and his decision was abrupt and final. Now, The Bear, on the other hand, has shown signs of breastfeeding into college. And after the literal blood, sweat and endless tears I put in to fight for my child's right to have superior sustenence, why would I turn off the tap before he was ready?

So, you people who give the wrinkled nose when you pass as I feed my child; you women who loudly comment, 'If he's old enough to ask, he's too old!' as you walk by, know this. My 9 month old can ask. He pulls at my shirt and loudly and sternly tells me, "EH!" Is 9 months too old to nurse? He just cut his third and fourth tooth. Is he too old to nurse? Is my friend's two-year-old who cuddles up to her breast at night to comfort herself at the end of a long day too old to nurse? What makes a child "too old"? I am most certainly not alone in my arduous journey to breastfeed. Many, many mothers have a much more difficult time than I. Who are you, who are we, to determine when enough is enough? Being a mother has its own set of overwhelming challenges and obstacles. Why not refuse to add another by judging the choices of breastfeeding mothers?

Here's something I guarantee will make the day of a nursing mama - smile, give her a thumbs up, and keep on walking.