The Preschooler was popping in and out of the house helping The Husband when I hear a blood curdling howl.  Agony or not, I run as does The Husband.  We almost sandwich The Preschooler who's crying his heart out.  He'd trapped his fingers in the door.  Instinctively I scoop him up, perching him half on my hip and half on Moomin bump as I inspect the damage.  Not so long ago, I'd whip out a boob and he'd be near instantly placated.  It's only once you've weaned that you realise what an epic parenting tool breastfeeding was, especially in crisis.  So we soothe and cuddle him as his sobs eventually slow into wet hiccups which gulp at the river of snot and tears.  It doesn't feel enough.  It feels like something is missing.  No matter how tight or close I hold him or how fervently I soothe him, it takes so much longer for our frantic hearts to realign and reach that moment when they're beating together in the symphony of 'Everything is okay. We're okay'  I can't escape the feeling of uselessness, of not being enough.

Thing One was bottle fed, he gave up his bottle spontaneously at around age two.  he just one day decided enough was enough and since that day he'll only drink milk on cereal or if it's chocolate flavoured.

Thing Two was breastfed until she was 2y6m.  This was predominantly child led with a nudge from me seeing as I was ttc, got pregnant and then miscarried.  Considering she was boob junkie, the weaning was remarkably effortless and untraumatic.  She was ready.  In all ways.  Once weaned she never asked for it again nor spoke about it which was surprising considering she was a boob junkie.  Yet she's always been a rather practical and scarily pragmatic.

Then there's The Preschooler.  He was was four in April.  It's only with him that I began to realise that there are many types of weaning from breastfeeding, there's the physical, the mental and the emotional.    It's not simply a matter of shutting up the milk bar, there's a whole host of tangled purposes within breastfeeding other than the obvious nutrition.  He's the opposite in personality to Thing Two, everything is emphasised with him, he's our little diva.  Life seems so much larger and dramatic to him.  He explodes faster and harder be it with happiness, anger or fear and thus finds it especially hard to come back together again.

The physical was out of our hands.  Pregnancy has dried my milk up, despite his best efforts to keep it going.  It got to the point where even that tiny feed at bedtime made me curl my toes and grimace yet he just wasn't ready to stop.  We'd cut down from an hour feed to a thirty minute one to a ten minute one over the months, then it was a quick 'count to ten' which became a count to five.  Sometimes all he needed was that quick suck because it wasn't always about the milk.  It's much much more.  It's security.  It's comfort.  It wasn't so much the milk he needed, he needed the confirmation that if he needed it, he could have it.  It was a connection, a security.  Often when tired, his hands would creep towards my cleavage, just to touch it, just to again, feel that connection.  he found it calming and soothing.

For The Preschooler it wasn't just about hunger or thirst of the physical kind, it also sated an emotional hunger.  When feeding he knew he was 'home', that place in your head where if only for a few minutes the world makes sense and everything is okay.

It helped him calm down be it from tiredness, over stimulation, anger , fear or hurt.  It grounded him.

So yes, we could have simply shut up shop, no more meme's yet through him I've been enlightened into the sheer complexity of a nursing relationship from the perspective of a child.  It's an invaluable parenting tool for a parent.  It's an invaluable dealing with life tool for a child.  He wasn't ready to be weaned, we had to ride the full journey of wean-ing.

It's not just about the milk.

It was never just about the milk.

I was ready for the physical aspect of nursing to be over, as I mentioned previously my milk was drying up.  The actual physical act of nursing was uncomfortable, even painful, and that in turn had an impact on my attitude towards it.  Yet do I miss it?  Absolutely.  Thankfully he understands that the milk is all gone yet still he'll occasionally say in such a solemn little voice 'I wish I could still have meme's' and my heart breaks a little more.  It's no longer an angry or frantic need for it, it's the wistful acceptance and sadness that haunts me.  The fact I can no longer provide something he loved and wanted and on several deeper levels, needed.  It's the mature fashion in which he can talk about something from the past that meant something to him.

I'm grateful though that we had as long as we did and in a way, I'm grateful that something other than him or I instigated the weaning so that it was gradual and necessary rather than one-sided or enforced.

So when weaning, if you're finding it hard or indeed if your nursling is struggling just remember:

It's not just about the milk.

It was never just about the milk.

The act of breastfeeding, to a child is so much more.  It will always be so much more than milk.

It's their sanctuary, their safety net, their anchor and the most rudimentary direct connection they have to their heart i.e you.

Is it any wonder that some children thus find it harder to give up than others?  Even as adults, some of us need that extra bit of comfort in life.

Incidentally, his fingers were fine.  

Our Breastfeeding Journey

When I started my parenthood journey the thought of breastfeeding was terribly hideous to me.  I'd never seen breastfeeding, I'd grown up thinking babies were fed from bottles and that it was the done thing.  I was rather adamant that it wasn't for me and thought breastfeeding past the first 6 weeks or so was terribly peculiar.  Throughout pregnancy there was a gargantuan amount of pro-breastfeeding paraphernalia shoved down my throat by health professionals. Thing One was born and showed absolutely no interest in my gargantuan breasts despite the random members of staff tugging, twisting and pulling them towards him at all hours.  I felt like  a piece of manhandled meat and Thing One? He felt mostly tired.  Upon hearing the news I had to stay in hospital until he was feeding I made the decision to formula feed, he gulped it down and grew like a weed.  I never met with any anti-formula stigma at all, apart from online where I was once accused of playing Russian Roulette with Thing One's life and told that formula feeding was as dangerous and irresponsible as not using a car seat.  Seriously.  Poor Thing One was our prototype, torn between instinct and taking so-called advice we stumbled along.

Throughout Thing Two's babyhood, my eyes were opened to breastfeeding through several very good online friends, and one in particular, and it was no longer alien it was beautiful.

 By the time Thing Two was born I was adamant she would bloody well breastfeed, and breastfeed she did, eventually.  Constantly. Day and Night.  Like some pretty leach.  A beautiful limpet.  She was the stereotypical velcro baby.  She was born pissed off and screaming and continued to scream for many months afterwards. Here began our love affair with babywearing.  It was simply essential seeing as she howled at the near sight of the buggy and took it as an absolute tragedy if I dared to put her down somewhere.  I was far too lazy to  express and was paranoid that if she met a bottle it would be the end of breastfeeding.  My goal was six weeks.  Then 6 months.  Then a year.  It kept moving. I remember being so paranoid for the first six months that I couldn't possibly be all she needed that I compulsively got her weighed near enough weekly.  It was a hard step from being ruled by numbers (numbers of scoops, number of ounces, number of feeds) to simply trusting my body and my baby. Eventually she night weaned at two years and six months of age and day weaned at two years and nine months.  One thing I noticed throughout our journey is that despite the immense pressure health professionals put you under to breastfeed, if you do infact do it once you get past six weeks, then six months they actually have no idea what to do or say to you.  Very few of them are versed in either extended breastfeeding or natural term breastfeeding.  Not only do they possess a lack of information they seem to at times spout a ludicrous amount of misinformation with professionalism going out of the window and opinion creeping in.  Opinions from health professionals are a dangerous thing to a vulnerable parent.  You trust them, they're trained professionals thus what they say must be true it's only when you research yourself that you realise it's only opinion they're basing their consultation on and that itself can be a load of old tosh.  The obsession to get you to breastfeed turns into a mission to get you to stop.  You can't win.

That brings us to The Toddler.  There was no question as to how he would be fed.  Despite the initial toe curling adjustment period, we were off.  At the hospital they left me alone figuring that due to Thing Two, I knew what I was doing.  This works for me.  I like to figure things out alone.  The Toddler is, for want of a better word, a boob-junkie.  Totally.  He is now 3.5years old and still feeding day and night.  Although we have cut down considerably in the amount of feeds, he shows no readiness to stop at all and that's okay.  It really is.

Many of us are aware of the benefits that breastfeeding a baby has for both baby and Mother yet there is an assumption that past six months these benefits magically cease to exist despite the WHO's recommendations for breastfeeding to at least two years of age.

The Academy of Breastfeeding Medicine affirms breastfeeding beyond infancy as the biological norm. “The average age at weaning ranges anywhere from six months to five years… Claims that breastfeeding beyond infancy is harmful to mother or infant have absolutely no medical or scientific basis,” says Arthur Eidelman, MD, president of the Academy of Breastfeeding Medicine.  “Indeed, the more salient issue is the damage caused by modern practices of premature weaning.”  The global organization of physicians further notes that“Human milk contains nutrients, antibodies, and immune-modulating substances that are not present in infant formula or cow’s milk. Longer breastfeeding duration is further associated with reduced maternal risks of breast cancer, ovarian cancer, diabetes, hypertension, obesity, and heart attack.” (ABM 2012) 

Obviously I'm incredibly pro-breastfeeding however that doesn't make me anti-formula, I've been a formula feeder too and guess what?  It's not powdered poison or the devils piss and I have a beautiful nine year old Thing One who drank it for two years.  Yet even when formula feeding it is important to accept the fact, without getting offended or defensive that in the majority of cases, there is nothing wrong with formula feeding but it isn't the optimal and biologically appropriate feeding method for your infant, it is a substitute.  However you choose to feed your baby, make sure it's an informed choice.

Why I'm still breastfeeding at 3.5

The Toddler is demanding 'meemee', again.  I'm trying to ignore it having calmly told him several times that he can have a cuddle/snack/bmw/vodka/pony instead, however he's now venomously shouting it in my face, you know, just in case I'm deaf as well as stubborn.'Meemee' is his obscure yet quaint self named word for boobs, which I suppose is somewhat more tolerable in public than Thing Two's screams for 'BOOBIES' though not as humorous.  Obviously Thing Two doesn't do that now, what with her being seven and having weaned at 2y9m.  The Toddler is 41.5 months old now and would still breastfeed 24/7 if access was allowed. There's so much that is misunderstood about extended breastfeeding.  On an average day he will feed in bed upon waking (yes we still co-sleep too, such a shame I can't weave...what with my abundance of lentils) for up to an hour depending on the time and how long I'm attempting to delay getting out of bed.  He'll then mostly be distracted when asking during the day with offers of snacks instead, or his favourate....icepops.  Sometimes in the afternoon we'll have a long snuggle on the sofa and he'll feed then it's again at bedtime.  He's been frightfully close to night weaning several times now with us agreeing before bed on no meemee's during the night, only cuddles.  Often this will work.  If he demands I persist with the 'no' yet should his anger turn to distress, I give in.  It's not that I'm a soft touch it's just I have to consider the rest of the household who're trying to sleep and the fact that regardless of why, if he needs the security of a sleepy feed rather than simply wanting it, it's my job as a mother to meet that need.  Besides, sometimes it really is anything for a quiet life.  Generally he's quite good at the count to five rule and at most it's down to 1-2 night feeds at most.  Although I'll readily admit at times the idea of night weaning the little sleep assassin is awfully tempting yet the fact remains, he's simply not ready and I respect that. It's not just about the physical nutrition, it's the emotional nutrition too. When they are ready, it's relatively effortless and trauma free.  That's how I want it to be, that's how weaning should be.

Until recently he's had a good  run at night, then he became ill, again.  It all goes back to the start when he's ill as he reverts to feeding constantly once more.  The milkbar becomes open all hours. However, as any parent will know it's awful seeing your child suffer and feeling so helpless being unable to alleviate their pain and misery.  One thing I can do is let him nurse on demand at these times.  It gives him the comfort he craves, keeps up his fluid levels and helps his immune system.  For you see, when The Toddler gets ill, he gets really ill.  He caught Thing Twos cough and cold, it sounds average enough yet whenever he gets ill like that, he goes downhill...quickly.  The year before last he must have had about 4 or 5 trips to A&E with a need for nebuliser and steroids.  Ghastly, frightening times. So it's a blessing to keep him close, even if it means staying awake throughout the night in a state of torment and paranoia, attempting to administer ventolin without him waking whilst constantly counting his breaths per minute just waiting for that moment when you know he has to be seen by a doctor.  It's like being on a knife edge not knowing whether he'll perk up or slip quickly downhill.  Thankfully this time, he turned a corner and started to perk up with just ventolin and plenty of breastfeeds.  I genuinely dread to think how we'd cope if he wasn't sleeping right next to me. However, it does mean we're back to square one again, with the night feeds, again.  Yet as I lie in the still of the night I learn to cherish these moments, because they won't last forever.  He needs this, he needs me.  I am his. I couldn't withhold something he evidently needs from me even if my life depended on it.

Did I think I'd still be breastfeeding him at 3.5? No. Do I love it? rarely. Do I hate it? sometimes (especially when the painters are in) Time is ticking, maybe once he turns four if he hasn't self weaned I may give weaning a gentle push.

However often it feels like history is repeating as just like with Thing Two sometimes I'll say no and he won't accept it, the anger turns to distress and I give in which in turn makes the initial no seem pointless.  It's like I made him cry, for nothing.  Still sometimes, it's good to separate want from need and act accordingly.

Am I looking forward to the eventual weaning? Absolutely! Will I miss it? Undeniably (sometimes!)

Changing Rooms

The time draws ever near to eviction, or so The Husband threatens though I'll admit I've done a terribly good job of evading it so far.  The Toddler, you have been evicted, please leave the big bedroom, is along the lines The Husband is thinking for you see, The Husband doesn't do co-sleeping so instead chooses to sleep on the sofa for several years.  However, seeing as he has decreed that The Toddler is indeed our last baby (can you hear my womb weep?  My eggs are trembling and distraught) I'm in no hurry to do anything and indeed am quite grateful that he appears to be a very young 3.5 yr old (unlike Thing Two who I often suspect was born a forty year old)  He doesn't sleep through yet and still breastfeeds throughout the night (& day).  Oh believe me I've attempted to remedy the latter yet it risks waking the entire county and I am loathe to force night weaning as when they're ready it is quite effortless, he obviously on some instinctive level needs it still and my job as a mother is to support his needs.  So to plant him in a room with Thing One or Two would hardly be fair on them.

The other thing The Husband conveniently neglects to consider is the nightmare logistics involved for you see it's not quite as simple as putting him in a room with a sibling.  It would make sense for The Toddler to share with Thing One (male, 9yrs) Yet to be blunt, they fight like cat and dog.  The there's Thing Two (female, nearly 7) who has the box room and is terribly pissed off that a) she has the box room b)cant share a room with me c) has to sleep alone.  Incidentally The Toddler rather adores Thing Two and when in the mood she is effortlessly brilliant with him.  Yet due to the obvious gender difference a long term solution of them sharing would probably be far from ideal so we've had the somewhat grandiose plan of letting The Toddler and Thing Two share for a few years then have The Toddler and Thing One share.  Still with me? terrific....because it doesn't stop there.

In order to action the plan it involves Thing One and Thing Two swapping bedrooms for a few years.  However, Thing One (unlike The Toddler who is rather partial to pink) point blank refuses to reside in a pink room.  Thing Two's room is, you've guessed it, pink.  Pink walls, pink curtains, pink blind and pink carpet. So firstly we'd have to redecorate the room, including replacing the carpet.  Then there's Thing One's lair, which is terribly scruffy with a bed that is literally held together by Heathen prayers and witchcraft.  We's need to redecorate this room too and then buy bunk beds with mattresses.  Bloody nora.  All this on a shoestring budget of erm....nothing.  Can you see my eyes rolling?  They're lodged in the back of my skull they rolled that far.

Thing One is vying for a red room, an absolute and definitive not on your fucking Nelly, seeing as he has The Husbands diabolical temper already.  Thing Two and The Toddler are rather hoping for orange.  Yes orange.  Indeed.  Do you see what I have to work with?

Thing Two would be immensely chuffed with a personalised room in some format seeing as the poor bugger has a gorgeous yet unique name meaning no personalised off the shelf adornments for her.  Ever. Oops.  Parent fail.  Sorry Thing Two, Sorry God (& Fuck you Coca Cola).  Granted there are many wonderful handmade customised things that are superbly darling yet frightfully out of budget that could perhaps be replicated had I a single craft bone within my being, which I don't. Not even a little one, not even at all. Arse.

Here comes my genius moment, are you ready?  Are you dazzled by the lightbulb beacon glowing above my head? Stencils.  Yes, stencils.  How utterly brilliant is that and before you get overexcited about the prospect of me artfully making such things.  Stop.  Remember?  I'm craft inept.  So it's lucky there are places out there such as Stencil Warehouse who you guessed it, sell pre-made stencils.  I'm thrilled, how is it for you?  Better still, they do Alphabet Stencils.  I have images of stenciling her name, emblazoned across an entire wall in her room, with the aid of spray cans, which seem infinitely more fun and easier then brushes, right?  I could even expand on that with a flurry of stenciled butterflies around it then The Toddler can have a transport theme and his name stenciled on another wall.  Jobs a good 'un.  How wrong could this possibly go? Sometimes, I amaze myself with my own genius.  I think I need a sit down and a large gin to recover.

The only problem would be The Husband having to restrain me from erm.... 'decorating' the rest of the house seeing as the possibilities are endless...my artistic vision renders me so misunderstood.

Yet for now, The Toddler will remain with me with our night time cuddles and the lullaby of his little breaths soothing my soul whilst The Husband, with prickly stubble and gnarly feet, can remain downstairs a while longer.

The Sleep Assassin

Sleep is still somewhat of a delicate subject with regards to the Toddler, as in he isn't particularly proficient yet at letting me have any.  Some nights he'll easily drift to sleep either mid boobing or shortly after, only waking once maybe twice a night for a quick boob session, these are good nights.  Far from perfect yet manageable.  Other nights he'll resist sleep, usually if he's had a sneaky impromptu illicit nap during the day, he'll roll around his be and mine, try an initiate conversations about wee, poo and poo man, serenade me with Anthrax an generally test my fraying patience as my brain slurs the mantra 'gothefucktosleep' repeatedly.   When sleep finally overwhelms him, i'll try an make a quick escape to pee only to return to him blissfully still asleep....yet on my side of the bed! Cheeky git. This then leaves me with the choice of moving him an risk waking him or leaving him and being pillowless.  Give me strength.

Then there are the in-between nights where he'll nod off to sleep effortlessly and even stay asleep for a few hours but then due to illness or more often then not some inexplicable top secret reasons unbeknownst to me he will start to wake.....hourly. I shit you not.

Some day he'll sleep through.  Some day The Husband will once again sleep upstairs.  Some day i'll be able to come the evening downstairs until i'm ready to sleep.


Until then i'll watch the patterns my fraying sanity make in the dark, cherish the lullaby of his breaths next to me and his little hands gripping me as he nuzzles, snuggles and feeds because it won't last forever.

'Extended' breastfeeding.

....there's so much negative media on breastfeeding and especially on breastfeeding toddlers.

So go on, tell me it's weird, tell me it's obscene, tell me it's all about the mum and the toddler gets nothing out of it  (because quite frankly, I'd LOVE to see how you 'make' a toddler breastfeed, bet it's almost as difficult as trying to distract one when *all*they want is to feed)

It's an amazing parenting tool,especially when your toddler is poorly, hurt, teething, overtired, upset, scared, cross and has many benefits.  It's also at times irritating as hell ;)