On the very first day of lockdown, my son nursed nonstop. At 22 months old, he seemed to have other plans. I had originally aimed to breastfeed for about a year, maybe 18 months at the most. This timeline was influenced by my upcoming book release in mid-2020, which I planned to promote without my son for several days at a time. Additionally, I wanted to have a clear endpoint in sight since breastfeeding can be quite demanding.
However, as we approached the one-year mark, it was evident that my little one was far from ready to stop, and surprisingly, neither was I. By then, he was eating solid foods, so nursing wasn’t a constant demand. Yet, my perspective on breastfeeding evolved through the daily experience. I began to see it not merely as a chore that restricted my freedom but as a shared journey—an empowering and even political statement. I was producing nourishment with my own body, making a bold choice that went against societal expectations after his first birthday.
Yet, by the time he hit 22 months, I found myself yearning for a break. I daydreamed about indulging in my long-forgotten edibles and fantasized about sleeping in without an early morning interruption from my son.
Before the quarantine began, I had cautiously started the weaning process. One morning, he even woke up and forgot to ask for milk, stirring a whirlwind of emotions in me. I excitedly told a friend, “I think he might be weaning himself!” to which she replied, “Congratudolences!”
Then came the pandemic. Our usual routine, which included two days at daycare and three days with my parents, vanished. Now, he was home with me all day, and all he wanted to do was nurse, nurse, nurse.
That first week, his excitement was palpable. “Want to play with blocks?” I asked. “No! I wanna nurse!” he exclaimed. “How about a bath?” “Bath is silly! Nursing, nursing!” “Maybe we could look out the window?” “I don’t like windows! Nuuuurrrrssse!!!”
In the weeks that followed, he fell back into familiar patterns—nursing for comfort, rest, and solace. This was partly due to the constant presence of each other, but also because the options for distraction were limited, especially in those early days when even a walk felt risky, and being under two meant he couldn’t wear a mask without trying to eat it.
I felt frustrated. I recognized the benefits of breastfeeding a toddler and understood my privilege in making that choice; many parents don’t have that opportunity. I had read that children often wean naturally between ages two and four, and I knew many strong individuals who breastfed for years. But how was I supposed to embark on my long-awaited book tour? How could I manage to work from home with a child permanently attached to me? And those edibles! When would I finally get to enjoy them?
As time went on, my reasons for wanting to wean started to fade. It became clear that the book tour would be virtual. I learned how to create a workspace that kept my son from associating my presence with “mama milk.” Eventually, I discovered how to say, “You can’t nurse now, but you can nurse later!” in a cheerful tone that encouraged him to wait a few hours. The desire for edibles didn’t seem like enough reason to end nursing, especially since breastfeeding releases its own calming chemicals. Did I really want to trade that blissful oxytocin for THC?
Moreover, breastfeeding became a practical tool during our time at home. It provided comfort, helped with nap preparations, and even allowed me moments of quiet when I needed to check my phone. Nursing transformed from a burden into a useful strategy for navigating the pandemic.
As I embraced the reality that we might continue nursing longer than I planned, my worries about weaning lessened. There was no book tour, no work conflict, so there was no urgency to stop as long as we both chose to continue. On days I wasn’t working, I looked forward to his nursing requests; in the chaos of the world, our sessions became moments of peace. Nursing kept me still, and eventually, I found myself checking my phone less frequently.
Breastfeeding has, in many ways, taught me patience. It’s not just sitting idly; it’s hard work! Your body becomes a source of sustenance, tiring you out even as you remain still. But the effort lies in the waiting.
This is true of parenting in general. Much of the important work—ensuring a toddler doesn’t choke on food, keeping track of them at the beach—might seem to an outsider as inactivity. Yet, it’s essential to the role.
During the pandemic, the ability to wait has become crucial for everyone. While the anxious wait for COVID numbers to drop or for a vaccine might seem more pressing than the wait for a child to finish nursing, the skill is still applicable. I’ve always struggled with taking a moment to breathe and accept stillness. My toddler’s ongoing nursing has provided me with daily lessons in the art of patience.
Now, over a year since I put my weaning attempts on hold, my child’s third birthday is approaching. Should I set a cutoff date? Will he lose interest when he starts preschool and the need for stillness fades? I don’t have the answers. For now, I’ll take a lesson from the past year and remind myself that not everything can be planned. I’ll let these questions simmer, breathe out, and see where this waiting takes us.
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Summary: The author reflects on her initial plans to wean her toddler before two years old, which were disrupted by the pandemic. As they navigated lockdown, she found comfort and practicality in continuing to breastfeed, ultimately embracing the unexpected journey of nursing longer than she had anticipated. She learned valuable lessons in patience and flexibility, reminding herself that not everything can be controlled.