When my daughter was about ten months old her interest in breastfeeding suddenly waned. Of course by then I’d heard of babies so-called “self-weaning” at even earlier ages, but at the time I had misgivings about the whole business. I wasn’t sure if she was ready to quit nursing altogether or if she was just taking a break, and I was damn sure I wasn’t quite ready – and most distressing, I didn’t know my role in all of it. It was a painful experience and, as so many mothering quandaries often are, one that felt – in final estimation – mine to sort out, with the help of my daughter, who was of course very, very little (months younger than the above photo). See I suppose I couldn’t or rather never have relied on the comfort of mainstream “experts” directing my life. While I’m thankful for this character trait, to the extent we resist conformity we may pay the occasional price of Arbitrary Self-Inflicted Agony.
So I sought the advice of some women I trusted, women and medical professionals who knew their shit regarding nursing. Looking back I now know I was privileged to have started my family in such a pro-breastfeeding culture. I remember one lactation consultant, at least, telling me that in light of the fact my daughter was first walking she might be a little distracted. If I wished I could use this opportunity to encourage breastfeeding – you know, just offer a sip now and then – and that my daughter might resume her interest. And I did – and she did, too.
For about a week I felt a panic that perhaps I’d “forced” my will on my infant daughter (although of course I never “forced” a feeding), and perhaps more alarmingly, that I’d lost the opportunity to help her be “independent” (ha!). You know, that I’d done something hippie-Earth-Mama-selfish and facile and my child would suffer for it. Et cetera.
Of course, as it turned out my daughter nursed for over two years more, and this was an incredible experience – I can’t even recount all the many wonderful memories I have and the closenesses we lived (and still, she seems so little to me at weaning, when I look back!). To this day I feel a stunning and overwhelming sense of gratitude for the women who advised me as they did. And I suppose I should be grateful for my own instincts which led me to the counsel that worked best for me.
But today I once again hover in a position of minor parental agony; the children seem in so many ways not to need me, and yet I cannot seem to let go of most a decade of intensive care. I sense they are more independent than ever and that we are providing everything they need as best we can (and conferences with the children themselves support this). I know they can tell me what they need (Nels: “Snuggles and love and food and my Little Mama”) – and yet I am prone to guilt if I spend a few hours without them in mind. At least, on this last count, pervasive Guilt is old behavior and I hardly expect to be rid of it like magic just because I’m now sober.
All demonstrable evidence suggests the children are thriving; yet I keep searching for fault within myself or something I should, or shouldn’t be doing. This is prideful and this is arrogance; when I do this I am willfully blind to the beauty of their daily lives. They are surrounded by people that love them, and they live in a home and town they adore with people and animals they love deeply. They spend most of their time outside and are courageous in their exploits and fierce in their friendships. Their summer is full of everything I loved from (or wished I had during) my own childhood: sleepovers and waterparks and ice cream and books and tree forts and visits to neighborhood shops where everyone knows them, bike rides and gardening with their grandma. They continue to show moral and emotional traits that bring joy to others. They are loving and directly hug and greet all manners of friends, young and old.
They are empathetic and considerate. They are kind. Twice now in the last week I’ve had sleep problems (meaning: onset insomnia, staying up watching shite escapist television on Netflix). Both these mornings the kids rose, dressed themselves, ate, washed their hands and faces, brushed their teeth, cleaned up after themselves breakfast-wise, fed the cats, and checked on the chickens, bringing in eggs. They called their father – but in the next room, whispering so as not to wake me (Ralph told me later).
It’s absolutely amazing at times their consideration and maturity; and yet, to be honest, it makes me want to cry.
In short I am experiencing an insecurity around my Motherhood that I feel neither my children nor my husband can fully understand (although some of my close friends and family seem to relate). It’s as if I’m asking myself if I’m brave enough to self-care a bit more. Or maybe I’m afraid if I were to do so, something Horrid would happen or I’d suddenly miss a need of theirs and I’d screw it all up. Somehow.
It’s funny because as a child the word my family used against me that hurt the most was “selfish”. Somehow I grew into a different kind of Selfish than what I suppose they meant; today my sins seem to be that of self-obsession (Perfectionism) coupled with a lack of self-respect.
I don’t want to model that for my children – anymore.
That photo is so very awesome. Thanks! 😀
This is so beautifully written Kelly. My son is turning 5 soon and I’m starting to see the direction he’s going in (towards independence). It’s scary in so many ways. Thank you for this.
last night i went to bed in an empty house – one child being out w/ her beau (that she is old enough to have one makes me feels so damn old it is insane!) and the other at a sleepover – the house felt like a shell.
without them needing me/us as intensely and constantly on point as they used to i/we must allow ourselves the freedom to be ok and hopefully even to be amazing.
allow ourselves time to ourselves just as we give them time to pursue their own interests without us.
allow ourselves also to grieve those magical earlier years when it felt like the universe had shrunk down to just.us
and then allow ourselves to revel in the new magical that is ever evolving…
Kelly, this is lovely. Thank you. It’s so bittersweet watching our children become independent.
You know, even though H and M are now almost 40 and live halfway across the country, I still have moments of wondering if there’s something I should or shouldn’t be doing for them, about them, or with them. I wonder if we can ever allow ourselves to be good enough mothers…or to give ourselves as much respect as we give to our kids. But the circle can be broken; M has children now and knows she is a great mother…and has thanked me for being a good role model and for offering her so much respect as a child.
Your two will likely – if they choose – be great parents.
Every story of the beauty of a mother’s breastfeeding relationship with her child is different, but there is always that underlying theme of wistfulness when that portion of childhood ends, no matter how it ends, and I think it’s so indicative of how in touch with our children we want to be and how fiercely we love them. While I nursed Maeve past 2 years old and the weaning was child-led and gradual, Tallon decided abruptly that he was no longer interested in nursing not long after his first birthday and indicated his disinterest in the breast by biting whenever I offered the breast. And still at the time I felt like maybe there was something I did to make him want to stop nursing. So I totally understand where that distress comes from – I wasn’t really ready for Tallon to stop, even though he was.
I think, too, when we put so much of our energies (and, consequently, our selves) into being mothers, the idea that some of that will eventually not be necessary leaves us feeling lost – particularly for mothers who choose to stay at home and make mothering their full-time occupation. And this is well-documented in women who find themselves at loose ends when their kids have all left the house. If one’s definition of self is largely “mother”, then what happens when you’re not mothering full-time? I contemplate this often, kind of like I contemplate how I’ll feel when we decide to stop having kids (it’s staring me in the face). It kind of scares the shit outta me, particularly since people ask what I’ll do when the kids are “grown up”. It’s about being needed. But it’s also about feeling that mothering is a “valid” profession. If your children no longer need you for every little thing and are largely independent, is being a full-time mom justified? I think that because women who grew up in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s lived in a culture where it was expected that most women would have some sort of career or job other than mothering, they/we still have this underlying feeling that maybe being a full-time mother isn’t a valid profession and that we should be doing something else. There’s certainly still a great deal of pressure from society for women to work outside the home at least part-time, and some people still look down on the women who choose be “lowly housewives”, even when said women have college degrees. Maybe especially for those women, since there may be some unspoken feeling that they are “wasting their education”. As women, we collectively need to fight against those feelings. You’ve talked before about valuing mothering and all it entails and I think this is a major part of women’s doubt when it comes to our changing roles as mothers as our children grow.
My mom, who was my Girl Scout leader for many years used to say that a good leader replaces herself and, indeed, in Girl Scouting the role of the leader is always to take on less and less of a leadership role and allow the girls to take charge of their decisions more and more as they get older. I try to keep this in mind as a parent, as clichéd as it may seem. And sometimes it’s difficult but I try. This morning Gwyneth woke up early and wanted breakfast. I had a headache and wanted to sleep some more, so while I was getting her something to eat, we talked about what she could do to get breakfast for herself in the future-how to make toast, where the cream cheese and jam are in the refrigerator and how she can reach them by using a chair. I moved the yogurts to the lower shelf so that she could easily get them herself and reminded her of the bananas and nectarines on the counter. She was really happy with the idea that she could get something herself without difficulty. And I was happy with the idea that tomorrow I might get a few extra minutes of sleep before Tallon wakes up.
Sorry to ramble – I find I’m not very articulate today.
@Jen
You were pretty articulate from where I’m sitting!
I think what you’ve said about the valuation of being the “full-time mother” is pretty damn important and enters into these equations. Also most people who haven’t done it for long probably have no idea what kind of work one ends up doing (often besides running a home a family lives in, supporting the out-of-home worker in all sorts of ways, supporting friends, cooking for other people, supporting kids and parents and volunteer work, etc etc). It’s okay if people don’t understand – just like people who didn’t work as process engineers didn’t know what I might be doing at work all day when that was my field. One difference is, people don’t generally assume I was twiddling my thumbs or being useless in the latter occupation, whereas the former…
By the way, my second child weaned a full year earlier than the first, and it really threw me. I still have ambivalent feelings about it and feel wistful!