Weaning and Dreams

It's been a special dream of mine since my daughter was a few months old to one day tandem breastfeed my toddler and a new baby. At first when my daughter was born, nursing was extremely difficult because of some anatomical issues, and we had to use a hospital grade pump and supplement with formula for about a week or two. After that, she was able to nurse, but it was still quite painful for a while. When my husband, in his online research to try to help our situation, stumbled across a style of breastfeeding called "laid back," my world changed. Nursing became more of a pleasant experience that both my daughter and I enjoyed.

At some point after that, I learned that when breastfeeding a toddler (for those who want to let their children nurse until they are ready to stop or for those who just want to wean at some point later than the one-year mark), some women who then get pregnant and have an infant choose to nurse the baby and continue nursing the toddler. This style is called "tandem" breastfeeding (moms of twins do it, too) because the mother is nursing more than one child at the same time (not necessarily simultaneously, although that's possible, too). I read about how lots of moms experienced tandem nursing as a wonderful bonding experience for the older child and new baby, and that some even held hands while nursing together. This amazed me and touched my touch-loving heart (physical touch is one of my strongest love languages). I've been hoping to achieve this tandem nursing since learning of it.

Baby number two is on the way now, due in late January, and my daughter and I plugged away at nursing all through about the first half of the pregnancy. She had expressed no desire to stop just because she turned two (why would she?) and I was happy to continue. But then, as morning sickness and physical tiredness set in, I decided it was time to night-wean. The pregnancy turned out to be exactly the catalyst I needed to stick with this decision and make it through the rough nights with my toddler for a while, and in the end I believe this helped her start sleeping a bit more soundly, something our whole family needed. (As a side note, my daughter, just a few weeks ago, at about two years and four months old, started sleeping through the whole night by herself for the first time in her life.)

I began restricting nursing to three to four sessions a day, which was really fairly in line with what my daughter was doing on her own anyway. It seemed to me that this plan would be a good balance between nourishing a growing baby and maintaining the breastfeeding relationship. My midwife had mentioned that some nursing women experienced a dramatic drop in milk supply later in pregnancy, but I wasn't expecting my milk to completely go away. I also never expected nursing during pregnancy to be so extremely painful. I knew about "aversion" to nursing that many women experience during pregnancy, but the discomfort and irritation I felt while nursing my toddler, especially in more recent weeks, took my by surprise.

Yet these are the things that have happened. My sense is that my supply has gone away due to pregnancy, and that simultaneously my daughter has lost interest. Who knows whether her interest dropped because the supply dropped or if it was the other way around, or whether my restricting her nursing times caused her to gradually lose her desire to nurse? The nursing was so uncomfortable anyway that it became a relief to have her say "no" to it.

Whatever the cause (I'm sure it is actually a complex mixture of many factors), my daughter is effectively weaned now, at about two years and five months old. She still asks for "nurse nurse" occasionally, but then doesn't really latch on and leaves me after a few seconds. This is not what I ever expected, and I still don't know exactly how she will respond when baby arrives and the milk supply returns; she may see baby nursing and want to participate alongside (I'd love that!). Or she may have no interest at all by that point. In any case, my dream has to be held in open hands. The pain of nursing has helped me respond to the weaning process with much less sadness than I had anticipated feeling (and that lots of women feel) during weaning. My daughter seems perfectly content with cuddles and other types of connection time with me. All in all, breastfeeding my firstborn has been a satisfying experience, whether or not there is more to come.

Baby Girl

Growing Up

Beautiful Change

Recently I enjoyed the pleasure of re-reading the first two books of C. S. Lewis' space trilogy (some of my favorite writing ever, hands down). A passage early on in the first book, Out of the Silent Planet, stands out to me each time I read the book, probably because anything related to change strikes a chord with me - I've always struggled with changes. They just don't come easily to me.

Maybe you are a thinker and worrier, like me. You can understand the intricate thought-circles that go on in the mind whenever a change, no matter how small, is anticipated. You question possible outcomes. You wonder if you will feel overwhelmed emotionally or be too weary to handle everything. You don't want the way things are now to end.

Lewis' main character, Elwin Ransom, encounters a mind-bogglingly big change in the first part of Out of the Silent Planet: He travels unexpectedly and against his own will to a new planet. When he realizes where he is headed, he is understandably afraid (he's also led to believe there are malicious beings on the planet). However, when he finally views the planet for the first time, his mindset radically shifts: "Before anything else he learn[s] that Malacandra is beautiful."

Ransom had expected a harsh, alien landscape, and when he is surprised by the beauty of the planet, he analyzes his own surprise: "he even reflect[s] how odd it was that this possibility had never entered into his speculations about it." Ransom questions his own thinking and cannot come up with a reason why he should have thought the planet would be ugly or frightening instead of beautiful.

The expectation that a new experience will necessarily be negative or scary comes mostly from apprehension of the unknown. I know what my current circumstances are like, and so I feel a certain sense of order and control over them. When all I can see in front of me is a blank, I don't know what will happen, and so I expect the worst. Why should I think like this? Why shouldn't a change bring positive and good things into my life just as easily as challenges or hardships? Indeed, why wouldn't challenges in themselves become good things if I handle them through trust in a God who loves me?

A new situation in my life, such as bringing a new baby into the family or moving to a new city, may turn out to look beautiful or it may turn out to look like "rocky desolation" (Lewis), but either way, my anticipation of it need not be fear-filled. I might as equally well expect joy as depression, pleasure as sorrow, and smoothness as roughness. In reality, I've experienced that most changes bring a mixture of all types of emotions, challenges, and fun. In any case, when the sovereign God of the universe is the one bringing me through it, I can pass with an inner peace from the "now" into the "then" - He's going to make each chapter of this life beautiful in the end, anyway.

Homemade Mistakes

The other day I was able to finish sewing my toddler a new dress. I've made a dress using the same pattern before, so the process was not completely new to me, but I'm still no expert seamstress. While I was able to sew comfortably without making as many mistakes as the first attempt (during which I had to rip out many seams and start over many times, as well as contact customer service for the pattern I bought to ask a question about how to do one of the steps), I still could not execute the project as cleanly as I would have liked.

When sewing the slightly puffed sleeves onto the dress bodice (one of the most finicky parts of the dress, along with the dreaded placket), I could not get through without puckering parts of the bodice on the front of the dress. I had to cut out one part and start over, but then the same thing happened again anyway, and then again with the second sleeve. Frustrated, I held up the dress to my face to examine my error and sighed. Should I cut the threads and start again, probably with the same result?

pucker one

pucker two

before hemming

In a moment, I decided to leave the mistakes as they were and abandon my impulse to make the dress look "perfect." The dress is homemade, after all, I told myself. It has more character with a bit of mess-up in it. And who's going to notice these small puckers once the entire dress is complete and my goofy, friendly, sweet daughter is inside it?

Homemade life, by which I mean real life (not magazine or Instagram or Facebook life) has flaws. As much as I want to be in control, organized, and on top of things at all times, I'm human. This lesson seems to return to me over and over: I will make mistakes, it's fine to make mistakes, and mistakes can even be good as they teach me important things. Making mistakes shows me and the people around me that I'm a person just like everyone else; mistakes invite openness and trust. Can people be comfortable with someone whose life is essentially a Real Simple photograph?

Furthermore, as my mom always told me (and as experience has shown to be true), people aren't looking that closely at me; they are too busy worrying about themselves! If someone is getting close enough to see a tiny pucker in my life, I am probably returning the favor and we are having a constructive chat about our problems. If that person is secretly judging me in private, then it's not my problem at all.

However, if someone does look at my life, flaws and all, I hope the sweetness of the heart of Jesus can overpower any impression of my personal faults. I'm not perfect, nor can I be in this lifetime, but Jesus told His disciples to "be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Matthew 5:48). The perfection of God's intentions, desires, mindset, and plans should be visible through my own motives, mindset, and actions, even though I mess up. The puckers and ripped seams are mine; the finished beautiful garment, which will in the end be perfected (Romans 8:22-30), is God's.