My granddaughter was in distress, and I felt utterly helpless. Despite my experience raising four children and step-parenting four more, nothing I tried seemed to work. As my 2-month-old granddaughter wailed, her cries triggered my 1-year-old grandson’s tears. Just moments before, all was well. Now, I had two little ones sobbing away while I struggled to manage dinner on the stove and failed to find solace in the cartoons blaring from the TV.
When I was 21, my eldest daughter had her first child, and less than a year later, my youngest daughter was born. Having a child and grandchild so close in age has its perks. I don’t feel guilty splurging on clothes and toys, knowing they’ll eventually be passed on to my granddaughter. My daughter and I even share the same pediatrician and parenting group, and our little ones have matching car seats.
However, there was one significant difference: none of my children experienced colic. So, when my daughter sought my advice, I was at a loss. She consulted with doctors, pharmacists, and other moms, trying everything—gripe water, tummy time, swaddling, white noise, and countless pacifiers—with no success. One evening, I received a panicked call from her. She was exhausted, overwhelmed, and hadn’t showered in days; her baby would only sleep in 20-minute stretches. They both needed a break, so I offered to take the baby for the night.
“No, Mom,” she insisted. “She won’t take a bottle, and I don’t have any pumped milk.”
A couple of months later, as my daughter prepared to return to work, she hesitantly accepted my offer to babysit. Her first shift was only three hours long, but it would be their first extended separation. When she arrived at my house, she brought a stuffed diaper bag filled with enough pumped milk to last a week, along with a flurry of apologies. I reassured her I was excited to spend time with my granddaughter.
But then reality hit. I found myself juggling two crying babies—one on each hip—while berating myself for my misplaced confidence in my parenting skills. I quickly set them down, grabbed the Bjorn, and strapped my granddaughter in. This only made my grandson envious and upset, so I picked him up, trying to soothe them both. It was chaos, reminiscent of having twins.
Just as their wails reached a peak, the smoke detector blared, adding to the cacophony and alarming the neighbors. In my frantic attempt to fan the smoke away with a dish towel while holding two babies, I noticed my face was wet. A glance in the hallway mirror revealed tear-stained makeup reflecting my overwhelming frustration. I felt defeated, no better than a novice in this twin-like situation. My daughter’s daily struggles became painfully clear, and despite my intentions to be a supportive mom and grandmother, I felt like I was failing.
With my head low, I walked down the hall, singing the “ABC Song” to calm the babies—more for my sake than theirs. At that moment, I spotted my husband in the doorway, taking in the scene. He gently took my grandson from me and disappeared into the bedroom.
Finally, I settled on the sofa with my granddaughter in my arms. As she fussed, I felt a familiar letdown, even though I hadn’t nursed in months. Without overthinking it, I offered her my breast. She latched on, and in a matter of minutes, she was peacefully asleep.
When my husband wandered back into the room and saw my granddaughter resting contentedly, he asked if it was alright to do that. I couldn’t find a reason against it. All my children had comfort-nursed, and I was accustomed to being a human pacifier. I was confident my daughter would appreciate my efforts to soothe her baby.
And she did. When she returned to pick up her daughter, I recounted the entire experience, and we shared a laugh. “I don’t mind if you don’t,” she said, and I genuinely didn’t.
Since then, I’ve cared for my granddaughter several times, and each occasion has led me to dry-nurse her. While some may view this as controversial, I’m unfazed. My love for both my daughter and granddaughter drives me to support them in any way possible—even if that means dry-nursing.
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In summary, my journey as a grandmother has taken unexpected turns, but my commitment to my family’s well-being remains steadfast. Whether it’s navigating the challenges of colic or providing comfort in unconventional ways, I embrace every moment with love and determination.