Monday, 16 March 2009

• Dear Aryana

  
  

  I remember how awkward it was when the nurse first shoved my breast into your mouth because I didn’t know what to do. You did, and you showed me that I shouldn’t worry.  I remember how much I fretted over how sleepy you were at first, the wet washcloths I put on your feet to wake you up, and how I would cradle you in my arms and wish everyone would go away so I could learn how to do this without comments from the peanut gallery.  I remember the moment when I learned that I had no reason to worry on your seventh day after birth.  We were at your friend Calla’s baby naming ceremony and saw the struggles and the effort her mom had to go through to feed her while you just latched on like a pro.  We had no need for nipple shields or any assistance at all.

  I remember sitting downstairs, tears rolling down my cheeks onto your tiny curled fists.  I cried because I knew that someday I would no longer be able to protect you from everything and you would get hurt, sick, have regrets, and feel heart ache.    I remember how sedating it felt to lay in the bed with you snuggled into the crook of my arm, nursing in your sleep.  I remember how sometimes you would requisition my breasts for the entire night as you marathon nursed through waking and sleep the entire night.  I didn’t even know that you were nursing sometimes because I was in a nice deep slumber, knowing you were safe in my arm.  I remember the night that you tried to latch on but missed.  You tried to nurse anyway and your dad and I laughed the next morning when we found a mark on my breast left by your dream feeding. 

  I remember the happiness that burst from me the first time you laid your little hand on my breast on purpose, the days of flailing, uncoordinated arms coming to an end.  I can sometimes feel the same tears well up in my eyes that did when you would make eye contact, stop nursing, and look up at me with a big, toothless grin.  I remember how I marveled over your chubby rolls, and the enchanting newborn smell in your teeny tiny wisp of hair. I remember the few time you bite me, and how you laughed when I gave a yelp. 

  I remember the wiggly, wiggly nursing sessions when a ten minute meal took an hour.  You were so distractible but still so charming and cute.  I remember nursing you everywhere we went, always once before we got in the car in hopes you wouldn’t cry the whole ride. 

  I remember you waddling up to me in the drunk toddler walk and raising your chubby arms with a hurried pump of the hand, demanding that you nurse, right now.  I remember how you first called it ‘urse’ and then ‘nursing’ and now ‘Nurse, me, please.’ with an emphatic pause after each word. 

  I remember just how much it hurt to nurse you while I was pregnant.  I just wanted to give you two solid years, not 14, 18, or even 20 months.  I felt you deserved to have at least that, and I know you deserve more. 

  Now our nursing relationship is coming to an end.  I must admit, I’m a little relieved.  I have dreamt of the days without toddler nursing.  I have longed for the end of the irritated feeling, that internal itching that I feel when you nurse.  It’s been there since I got pregnant, but it’s so hard to describe.  I think it’s called ‘nursing agitation.’  I wish I could give you more, but I have to admit, I am not the mom I wish I were.  I wish I were a mom who didn’t feel the agitation when you nursed.  I wish I were a mom who could hold on, just until you decide you’re done.  I wish I were more patient, and could show you the patience you deserve, not the hurried ‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, ok, all done, finish up, all done.’  I wish I didn’t tell you ‘We’ll nurse later,’ when you ask to nurse. 

  Through all of it, I’m still a little sad.  It’s the end of your babyhood.  I know I’ll still be the one who can comfort you the best with a big hug and a kiss when you get hurt, but I will still miss how I was able to soothe you when you got a bonk or a scrape.  I’ll still miss holding you as you drifted off to sleep and continued to nurse long after I had taken my breast from you, making little suckling motions with your tongue.  I’ll still miss the hours of just you and me, mother and child, cuddled together.

  I still love you, my big, leggy toddler. 

  Love, Mom

  • 11:51 AM
  • 9 Views
  • 0 eProps
  • 0 Comments