“Breast is best” I had decided even before I was pregnant with my first child. After 30 hours in labor without major progress, he arrived by Cesarean section, so I missed the immediate snuggle and bonding time. Having missed the first hour of his life is really the only thing that ticks me off about having birthed via Cesarean section and when I finally held him skin-to-skin he latched like a little vacuum.
From that day on, I nursed him on the couch, in bed, on the floor, in the car, in church, at the doctor’s office, in restaurants, in parks, at the pool, at an outdoor concert, in a library, on a train, in the airport, on a plane, at the beach, walking, standing up, sitting down, on the toilet, while showering, in the bathtub… well, pretty much anywhere you can imagine.
I didn’t cover up and was completely self-confident that this was best for my child.
I didn’t give him a bottle or a pacifier. My mom tried “because it’ll be easier on you,” but my son was stubborn (like his mama) and never cooperated. He actually refused just about anything aside from the boob until he was 7 months old. When I finally convinced him to try solids, he stuck with carrots and carrots only… for months!
I was happy and loved every minute of it — until one day in October when he was 20 months old. Every time he reached for my breasts and asked for “bo” my skin crawled. “You’re a terrible mother!” and “You don’t love your child enough!” echoed through my head and I could not switch back to loving to nurse, so I decided to quit!
The keywords are “I decided” because my little guy wasn’t very happy with my decision. I dropped one nursing session per week and by the beginning of December we were down to nursing twice in a 24-hour period.
Then we decided to go home for Christmas. I dreaded the flight, the tight space, and the other passengers. I was hoping that the plane would be empty, so we could spread out, but I was out of luck and we were stuck.
Never buy a lap-child ticket for an international flight when you’re quitting the boob!
Imagine average-sized me with my 22-month-old lap child and my 6 foot/220 pound husband next to me all the while the skinny, little girl in front of me leaned back her seat and complained that we kept bumping into her.
My husband tried to diffuse the situation and pleaded with me to “Just give him the boob,” so he would sit still. While latching him, I snarled profanities loud enough that half the passengers could hear them, but the rest of the plane ride was a breeze.
The weaning? Well, breast is best and who cared about me anyway?
On May 22, I quit nursing cold turkey! It was tough on my little dude. It was tough on me!
To this day he’ll say, “I like ‘bo’, Mama!” and I smile, kiss his forehead and say with the Soup Guy from Seinfeld’s voice “No ‘bo’ for you, buddy! No-bo-for-you!”