On the first day of shelter-in-place, my son nursed non-stop. He was 22 months old, and I panicked.
I had originally planned to breastfeed for a year—18 months at most. This timeline was influenced by the release of a book I co-authored, slated for mid-2020, which meant I would be away from my son for days at a time. Plus, breastfeeding is quite demanding, and I wanted to know when the end was in sight.
However, when he hit the one-year mark, it was clear he wasn’t ready to stop, and surprisingly, neither was I. By then, he was eating solid foods, so “mama milk” wasn’t an all-day affair. But my feelings about breastfeeding had evolved; it transitioned from a chore that held me back from my ambitions to a beautiful bond we shared. It felt empowering—an act of defiance against societal norms, a way of nurturing through my own body.
Yet, by 22 months, I found myself longing for an occasional break. I reminisced about my forgotten marijuana edibles and daydreamed of sleeping in without being interrupted by my son’s early morning wake-up calls.
Prior to the lockdown, I had started to carefully wean him. One morning, he surprisingly forgot to ask for milk, sparking a whirlwind of emotions. I excitedly called my friend Sarah to share the news, and she responded with a chuckle, “Congratudolences!”
Then the pandemic struck. My son’s daycare routine and my parents’ visits were abruptly disrupted. Suddenly, he was home with me all the time, and all he wanted to do was nurse, nurse, nurse.
“Want to play with blocks?” I asked.
“No! I wanna nurse!”
“How about a bath?”
“Bath is silly! Nursing, nursing!”
“Maybe we can look out the window?”
“I don’t like windows! Nuuuurrrrssse!!!”
In the weeks that followed, he reverted to old habits—nursing for comfort, rest, and solace. Our constant togetherness, coupled with the lack of other distractions, contributed to this. During those early days of uncertainty, we didn’t even know if we could safely take a walk, and at under two, he was too young to keep a mask on.
I felt a mix of emotions. I recognized the advantages of breastfeeding a toddler and knew I was fortunate to have that choice; many parents don’t. I had read that children often wean themselves between ages two and four. I knew many incredible individuals who breastfed for years. But with my book tour dreams dashed, how was I supposed to balance work-from-home life with a child perpetually attached to me? And those edibles! When would I ever enjoy them blissfully again?
As time passed, my initial motivations for weaning began to fade. The 2020 book tour shifted to a virtual format, and I learned to find a workspace away from my son to avoid tempting him with “mama milk.” I developed a cheerful way to say, “You can’t nurse now, but you can nurse later!” which helped him wait a couple of hours. The allure of edibles didn’t seem like a good enough reason to wean, especially when nursing released its own delightful chemicals into my body.
Nursing also turned out to be an invaluable tool during those long days at home. It provided comfort, a way to prep for naps, and even a method to sneak in a moment of downtime while I checked my phone behind his head. It wasn’t just a burden; it became a strategic means to cope with the pandemic.
As I embraced the reality of nursing longer than I had planned, my anxieties about weaning dissipated. Without a book tour or work conflicts, there was no urgency to stop, as long as we both chose to continue. On days without work, I began to cherish his requests for nursing; amidst the chaos of the world, those moments became our time to unwind. It’s tough to move around while nursing, so I allowed myself to relax. Eventually, I even found myself less inclined to check my phone during those sessions.
Breastfeeding has taught me the value of patience. Nursing isn’t idle; it’s hard work! My body becomes a source of nourishment, exhausting me even as I sit still. Yet, the labor often lies in the waiting.
This concept extends to parenting as a whole. Much of what we do—ensuring a toddler doesn’t choke on food, or monitoring them at the beach—might appear effortless to outsiders but is crucial nonetheless.
During these pandemic times, learning to wait has become even more essential for everyone. The anticipation for COVID numbers to drop or for a vaccine is vastly different from the simpler wait for a breastfeeding session to conclude, but the skill remains relevant. I’ve always struggled with embracing stillness, but my toddler’s ongoing nursing has imparted daily lessons in patience.
Now, over a year since I abandoned my weaning attempts, my child’s third birthday looms closer. Will I stop? Set a firm cutoff? Will he lose interest naturally once he starts preschool? I have no answers. For now, I’ll let these questions simmer, breathe, and see where the wait leads us.
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