Weaning

Lucia, looking for a snack

I mixed up 4 oz of warm soy formula, spooned in some jarred bananas for good measure, held the bottle aloft, gazed at it triumphantly and declared,

"FREEDOM!" 

"So she drinks it?" asked my mom.

"She sometimes drinks it." 

Lucia much prefers the breast, but I am done.  Done, done, done.  

"You could give away the formula Lucia didn't like to a friend."  Suggests my mom.

"Are you kidding?  They'd call social services on me."   We laugh.  You'd think formula was poison, the way people talk about it these days.

***

Weaning Elsie was easy.  By 3 months, I was back to work, pumping three bottles a day for her.  At 8 months, I just stopped pumping.  She switched from breastmilk to formula at daycare, and I nursed her first thing and at bedtime.  By the time two months had gone by, my milk had dried up on its own.

Lucia is a different story.  I'm trying to replace one feeding a day with formula, hoping to taper off without fanfare over the coming months. 

I have plenty of friends who nursed their babies until they were toddlers, and their toddlers until they were children.  Several of my friends nursed preschoolers.  More power to these women!  But it is not for me.  I was itching for freedom at 6 months when food provided my first relief.

"This time I'll make more of my own food!" I thought.  "Or do baby-led weaning.  Feed her whole foods!"

HA!  Nope.  Have you met those squish packs?  They're fantastic.  Lucia can suck one down almost entirely by herself without even needing a bib.  I buy them in bulk.

***

I am watching my baby grow up, seeing her crawl and pull herself up to standing, hearing her sputter out her first few words: Mama, Dada, and Ga! (for "cat").  I thought I'd be writing this post about Lucia growing into her independence and moving away from me.  I expected to tie it together with a bit of nostalgia for the intense sweetness and intimacy of nursing.  But that's not right.  Lucia, it seems, would be happy to keep snuggling into my breast, kneading my skin with her razor-sharp baby claws and drinking my milk forever and ever and ever.  Really, it is I who am seeking a bit of independence. 

And so that nostalgic moment didn't come to me when I sat to think about what I'd miss about nursing.  Instead, I remember a clear spring day, going for a walk with a good friend and our two November babies bundled into our strollers.  We were so desperate for the fresh air, the company, and the exercise, that we just kept walking.  Ten miles that day, if I recall. 

We found ourselves, at noontime, on Main Street in Arlington, suddenly ravenous.  We looked around us, delirious with hunger, for a place to eat: deli, Italain, Mexican, and Indian.  

"Do you think the Indian place has a buffet?" I asked my friend.  She nodded and we made a bee-line for it. 

We piled our plates high and ate.  You would not believe how much I can eat when I'm nursing.  That day, we ate three plates each.  Everything tastes so good when I'm hungry all the way to my bones like that.  Nursing is the antithesis of morning sickness.  It is the payback for all those days I spent green around the gills, running away from the sight and smell of food.  The early days of motherhood are delicious.

That is my favorite memory of breastfeeding Lucia: the decadence of appetite, shared with a friend and our babies on a beautiful day.