Twelve and a half years ago I brought Anabelle home from the hospital when she didn't know how to nurse. And I didn't know how to nurse her. She had been fed with a syringe her first week in the NICU and wasn't accustomed to working for the milk, I think. We made a freeloader in under seven days, our first parenting act. I tried every contraption, device and method known to anyone who cares about breastfeeding, to no avail. She wouldn't do it. Finally, I resigned myself to pumping and bottle feeding her. My Mom kept commenting on how sad it was that she wouldn't actually nurse because it was a totally different experience. I felt so frustrated at that because I really had tried and I couldn't make it work. And she was getting the benefits of the milk itself, just the same. I didn't understand her mourning (but I did want it to stop). I experienced the first of many bouts of mastitis and experienced the true misery that it is to live through. I pumped for nine months before my milk dried up completely.
I was full of hope that the next breastfeeding experience would be gloriously different. And then Lila spent the first 5 or 6 weeks in the NICU. I did nurse her in that period. But as I recall she had a difficult time eating well and the nurses insisted she eat a certain amount every three hours around the clock and so to comply with these demands, I pumped every three hours, with nursing attempts sometimes thrown in between. I remember exactly where I was when she really nursed for the first time. We were in Seattle for Cody & Jess's wedding. She was 2 months old. I was absolutely thrilled. Lila slept often in a swing, to help with her reflux. I would wake to the faint sound of her smacking her lips. I would nurse her, burp and change her, she would smile HUGE at me, and then go right back to sleep. It was amazing every night. I was so ecstatic to be able to nurse her, especially at having overcome an extended NICU stay and so much time apart. It took so many attempts and trying to make it work. Two months is a lot of feedings for a newborn. She was four months old before my nipples had stopped bleeding, blistering, and pussing. And then I nursed her for four months until she weaned herself. I remember how happy I was at having had that experience with her. It brought healing to me to be able to nurture and nourish her in this way when we had experienced so much separation at the beginning. It still causes me pain to remember how it tore me up to have her lying alone in a plastic bin in the hospital. Those nursing sessions were precious to me.
When we were expecting our third daughter I again was hopeful that things would be different this time. And it was. Within 24 hours of her being born, we were home. She was nursing right away. I had done so much work to keep my milk up with the previous girls that I decided I would nurse both sides every time. Maisey ate every two and a half hours all through the night as a young baby. Even as a bigger baby I was still nursing in the night far more than I had with the other two. But I had plenty of milk, and the sweetest relationship with her. She would gently tickle my sides while I nursed her, smiling up at me. There aren't words for how sweet our nursing relationship was. I understood why my Mom wanted so much for me to have this experience. There really isn't anything like it.
When Elise came along I was the busy mother of three little girls and Braden was gone for several months of her infanthood. I struggled mightily with milk production. I was exhausted and alone and couldn't recover from a stomach infection. I recall fighting through that to maintain my milk. It caused me epic amounts of stress because Elise was always hungry. She was five or six months old before I rounded that corner and then we nursed until she was 15 months. This too proved to be a magical bonding experience for us.
I never expected to nurse a boy. I never expected to mother a boy. For some reason this was different. Not better or worse. Just different. I knew the back of Emmett's misshapen head like the back of my hand. I would nurse him, and tell him what a good man he was going to be. That I knew he would do powerful things for Heavenly Father, I could just feel it. I walked out of his room every night feeling like my heart might burst with love, and feeling like I just fed a mighty warrior.
Both boys were easier to establish nursing with, although I have always had to be so vigilant in building and protecting my milk supply. I'm sure by that time the experience I had gained decreased my stress and increased my confidence. But it was never easy. I had blisters and blood for months with each one of them. I had mastitis a few times with most of them. I had clogged ducts that I had to remove myself. through so many tears, on more occasions than I can count. I've spent countless midnight hours, completely exhausted, propped up somewhere, nursing a baby. I have cried when they cried, knowing that I had to feed them, and knowing how bad it was going to hurt.
I've spent 7 or 8 years of my life in this pattern. It's been a monumental part of my life. Like all hard things that require sacrifice, I wouldn't trade even a single feed. Those quiet moments with each of my babies have been nothing short of amazing. I've loved the feeling of accomplishment the first time you hear them swallowing your milk. I love the "milk drunk" smile after a feeding session. I love nursing them to sleep while I stroke their cheeks and hair and tell them what they mean to me. I love that when they are sick I have the ultimate consolation and medicine.
And now Levi is 15 months old and he wanted to be done. He's too busy and there's not enough milk to justify the stillness it requires. And my heart is just broken. To never hold and feed a baby in this way again is so painful for me. I have suffered so mightily in all of this. There has been more excruciating pain associated with breastfeeding for me than I can adequately describe. But the sweet sweet experiences have been so worth it. I am grateful to every crack and crevice of my soul for the opportunity to bear and feed six children. To have cared for them and loved them in this way has been an honor and a blessing to me.
Closing this door is heavy and emotional and just so very sad. I left Levi's room the other night, just knowing that that had been it, our last feed together. I went back to bed and just cried. Braden woke up to my sniffling and thought someone had died. I told him I had just nursed a baby for the last time and I was heartbroken. He held me and comforted me, and I couldn't help but think of all the times he did this when I was in pain and exhausted from breastfeeding. We had come full circle it seemed. It felt triumphant and also like a giant black hole of loss.
And now I'm left with a body that has borne six children. And nourished six children. And it looks like it. It sags and bears scars and stretch marks. It's compromised in some ways because of the trauma. Things aren't quite where they should be. And sometimes that's hard for me. It's hard to look in the mirror and embrace that. But when I really stop and think about what my body has done, what's it's given me, I don't stay there very long. I stand in awe of womanhood and the incredible gift it is to bear life. To sustain life. In that privilege, yes even in that suffering, is found, I believe, the deepest and purest love. It defies description or comprehension to someone who has not experienced it. I am beyond grateful that I know love in this way.
