The first words I often hear in the morning come from my two-year-old daughter Evie. When she wakes up, she immediately demands to be let out from her bed by saying the word “mommy” repeatedly. It’s never a calm request. The way she says mommy changes in tone the longer I take to come get her. Her “mommy” starts off sounding like, “why aren’t you here already?” and escalates to “get the hell in here now you sloth of a woman and pick me up!”
She starts off saying mommy as an order for me to come get her. But it never fails that her next word she says when she first lays eyes on me is “boobie!”
Not morning. Not hi. Not good morning mother I love you and we are going to have a great day.
No.
She says boobie.
She says it like she’s ordering her breakfast…because she is.
Yes, I still nurse her.
This is the first time that I am freely announcing that I am still breastfeeding my toddler because my inner voice and society both tell me that I should be embarrassed by this fact. My doctor sounded surprised at her 2-year check up to hear I was still nursing. Even the way I worded it here denotes that I should feel some shame: I still nurse her.
Still. Like, that’s happening after this long and it shouldn’t. Still.
I’ve said in the past that I would nurse my kids for as long as I could. With my older two, I stopped before they turned 1. Neither of them was as attached to me like Evie – thanks to COVID and the fact that she does not go to day care. Plus, I thought my boobs were drying up back then. After 8-10 months of breastfeeding, they didn’t feel full anymore and they sadly shrunk back to their normal itty-bitty pre-preggo size. I didn’t have the internet resources back then to realize that I wasn’t really drying up. That feeling of fullness naturally goes away as your body gets used to the milk production that your baby needs. And your tats revert back to their miniature size even before you’re done nursing. Why are the big boobs on loan? Why can’t I keep them?!
So, with Gianna and Scar, I stopped at the socially acceptable time because they were both cool with it and I thought the gals were empty anyways. But now, with Evie, I’m here whipping it out to a toddler with teeth who can request the boob.
Stop drawing damn lines
Before Evie, I drew a line in the sand for myself. I said I would nurse for as long as I could, but that line also had a parallel line next to it that said I would stop before my child was old enough to ASK for it. I didn’t want to be the mom in public whose toddler came up to her and asked for the boob like she would ask for some Cheez-its.
Yet here we are.
(Ok, not entirely. She only nurses at home before bedtime and when she wakes in the morning. But she does request it).
This is just another example in my life where I realize there are no real lines you can draw for yourself. Because that line in the sand gets washed away when the tide that is life rolls in.
That line in the sand gets washed away when the tide that is life rolls in.
I will never do this. I would never allow that. If this ever happens, I’ll do this. When life really happens, you aren’t the same person who drew that line in the past.
The me that drew the “no nursing line” wasn’t the same me that sees my daughter being comforted by the boob. It’s not the same me that is now older and wiser to the fact that motherhood is not a journey that society can dictate. Every mother has their own path they follow because every child is different. Society can’t make me feel ashamed by something that my daughter needs right now. And it’s not like I nurse her in public anyways.
I nurse her to help calm her down before she naps and at bedtime. It’s to say good morning and give snuggles. It’s for comfort. And if my boob gives my daughter comfort, why should I be embarrassed by that?
I shouldn’t.
So, society and my inner voice can just shut the hell up and mind their own business. Stop telling people what is right. Right is what feels right, not what someone else says is right.
Stop drawing lines and just roll with the tide.