My Gollum

Credit: Douglas Ridloff

Paris was the pinnacle of 2013 in many ways.



Including our breastfeeding journey.

This photograph sits on our shelf in the living room and elicits compliments; little do people know exactly what we were doing.

Levi had just woken up from a nap in front of the Eiffel Tower and as usual he was ravenous so we nursed while I snacked on cheese and crackers.  I remember those moments in Paris fondly because that was when Levi broke free from the sling.  He preferred to either roam freely or, when tired, nod off in the stroller. So nursing was my opportunity to cuddle with an active toddler who wanted to spend as much time away from me physically as possible.

I am not out to make a statement.  I chose to breastfeed Levi like my mother did with me.  I do not judge other mothers for their choices.  Not at all.  In a way I see myself as a lazy, minimalist mother; the less equipment I need to feed my baby, the happier I am.  I envisioned nursing Levi until he looked up at me and said, "Mama, I'm done."

So the demise of our nursing journey came as a surprise to me.

When we announced my second pregnancy, one of the most frequently asked questions was "Are you still nursing Levi?"  Their reaction at my affirmative answer got to the point where I was tempted to say that it was none of their business.  But I continued to answer honestly, even when the next popular question was "But what will you do when the new baby comes?"  I was open to tandem breastfeeding (which is the act of feeding two babies).

In September I was 5 months pregnant and Levi was 21 months old.  Nursing slowly became difficult.  It was almost as if Levi was doing it wrong but I could not quite put my finger on it.

By October it was a toe-curling, creepy-crawly, nausea-inducing experience for me.  I thought I was losing my mind and confessed to Douglas.  Was it a physical sensation or more psychological, I questioned myself.   Gradually it got to the point where I dreaded every time Levi asked for milk.  I grimaced, gritted my teeth and batted away the image of Levi as a little Gollum.  This strong sensation came only when we nursed--not before, not after.  During.  I did not want to nurse my son.  I saw him looking up at me questioningly so I began to look away whenever we nursed.

I could go into detail about the whole mess of conflicting feelings, exacerbated probably by pregnancy hormones but I will say this: I was miserable.  The breaking point was during a redeye flight.  I broke down crying when I realized I could not endure it any longer and cut the session short, making Levi cry.  I felt like the world's worst mother because I could see that he understood that I did not want to do it; he did not understand why.  So there we were, both crying hysterically with people looking at us.  Doug paced up and down the airplane with Levi trying to pacify him.  Remember, this was a redeye flight.

I googled it up and much to my relief I found out I was not crazy nor was I the only one.  Nursing aversion, breastfeeding aversion, breastfeeding agitation are all terms that have been used to describe this phenomenon I was experiencing with Levi.  Resources were scant on La Leche League website.  Aversion strikes some mothers during pregnancy when nursing a child--it is commonly seen in nature.  Dog mamas growl, nip and push their puppies away.  It strikes roughly 1/3 of mothers, according to Kellymom.

There were tips on a Facebook group recommended by an Aussie friend of mine.  I laughed and cried while scrolling through the comments--one mother wrote, "I want to rip off my breasts and toss them at my baby.  He would scoop them up like Gollum and say, 'my preciousssss...'" Yes, yes, that was it!  I realized we had to stop.

We tapered off excruciatingly slowly.  I shortened the sessions slowly, counting to myself.  I held Levi's hands while he nursed, not out of affection but to remind myself that this was my son I was nursing.  When I pulled away, I'd say "Milk is all out.  Want water?"

We got a cup with a straw (Levi was drinking from regular cups; I got this "special" cup because I imagined it offered something somewhat similar to suckling).  Offering snacks worked too.   The day feedings were easy to stop--it was the night nursing that was the most difficult to stop.  I continued to shorten those sessions, offering water at the end.

On November 10, while nursing Levi asked for water before I offered it.  He drank some, snuggled up next to me and fell asleep.  The next night he asked for water before we began nursing and fell asleep.  The next night the same thing again.  And the next.  That was the end of our breastfeeding journey.  Levi was 23 months old, just a month shy of turning 2.

It makes me cringe when people say "Oh, good for you!" when I say I no longer breastfeed.  The act of breastfeeding is much more complicated and meaningful to me than I thought.  I miss those days and feel disappointed that our journey had to go through a point of heartwrenching inner turmoil before it ended.  In spite of those feelings, I love our new relationship now filled with hugs, cuddles and kisses.  Our nighttime routine looks completely different and Doug is an equal part of it.

I look forward to starting all over again with the new baby.  I really do.