Got milk (antibodies)? by Jenna Harrison
March 3, 2022
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Last night, I sent my husband to stay at his office due to a close contact notification, and let me tell you, my nipples are feeling the effects. Not because of him, but because of the situation. Our 6-year-old daughter is vaccinated, but our 3.5-year-old son isn’t eligible yet, and we’re doing everything we can to keep him safe. That’s why he still nurses before nap and bedtime, even though he’s now tall enough to ride Splash Mountain at Disneyland—though he’s never actually been to an amusement park. He’s barely left home for more than half his life.
At this point, my extended breastfeeding journey feels less about bonding and more about wrapping my child in the widest blanket of protection I can muster. I’d give it up in a heartbeat if I could, but I’m holding on for the hope of those elusive antibodies.
“Time for your milk medicine,” I say twice a day. My son giggles. I chuckle too, while internally I’m sobbing. I never envisioned nursing for this long.
It’s been a tough road. In December 2019, my then 17-month-old son was evaluated by a speech therapist. He has lip and tongue ties and a high arched palate, which means his mouth structure is quite different. While these issues aren’t severe, they made his tongue too weak to effectively swallow food. Even with me mashing or pre-chewing his meals like a mama bird (I know, I know), he still depended on breastmilk for half his caloric intake.
The therapist sighed as she observed him nursing, “Oh, his latch is so shallow; no wonder it hurts you.” So that’s why his sweet little lips felt like clamps? She provided us with mouth exercises to strengthen his tongue and jaw muscles and encouraged us to continue nursing until he was more successful with solid foods or decided to stop.
I sighed while smearing peanut butter inside his cheeks to encourage his tongue and having him blow air through straws to work out his lips. I had wanted to wean, but he clearly wasn’t ready. When Covid hit shortly after, I thought, well, we’re already deep into this breastfeeding life. What’s a little longer?
I didn’t foresee the emotional rollercoaster we’d face waiting for the vaccine for kids under 5. During the eight months between my first vaccine in March 2021 and my daughter’s in November, I reassured myself that my toddler was likely better protected than my older child.
“Milk is my superpower!” I chanted internally when my son crawled into my lap while I worked. Maybe I’m saving a life today, I sighed, pulling my shirt down after our routine of bath time, story, and brushing teeth. He was finally eating well and drinking on his own. Soon he’d be vaccinated, and I’d be free. I held on, month after month, hopeful his first shot would come by the end of 2021 so I could finally retire my boobs for good.
Instead, 2022 brought Omicron and more frustrating delays for the vaccines for our youngest kids.
I’m not alone in nursing beyond the point of desire amidst the pandemic. While food insecurity, picky eaters, and toddlers with oral challenges like mine are significant factors, access also plays a role. With more breastfeeding parents working from home, the availability increases, keeping the supply chain well-stocked. Plus, when you’re not going anywhere, who’s going to judge you for nursing past a certain age? (Because, of course, no matter how you feed your child—formula or breast, at 6 months or 6 years, under a cover or out in the open—there’s someone ready to share their unsolicited opinions.)
It’s empowering to feel like my superhero boobs can help my child, and I’m thankful to have held on this long. But I’m more than ready to let the “milk medicine” dry up.
Last month, while nursing, I learned that the first two shots of the Covid-19 vaccine for kids under 5 might be approved as early as March. I nearly jumped out of bed with joy. Please, please, please, let me finally take my boobs off the menu. Then two weeks ago, we found out that the youngest kids would have to wait even longer. Maybe in two or three months they’ll get that first Pfizer shot, then another three months before they’re fully vaccinated. Or maybe Moderna will surprise us. Who knows? Meanwhile, enjoy the regular quarantines and missed preschool days whenever a random sniffle comes up.
Last week, the country gave up on masks.
This week, I still have an unvaccinated toddler.
At this point, my nipples are just as cracked as the rest of me.
About the Author: Jenna Harrison is the author of “Waves of Change,” a memoir about a nomadic childhood along the rugged coast of Southeast Alaska. Her writing has appeared in various publications including The New York Times, WIRED, and Brevity. She resides and writes on Séliš and Qlispé land. Follow her on Twitter @jennaharrison and Instagram @jennaharrison.
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Summary:
In a candid reflection, Jenna discusses her experience with extended breastfeeding during the pandemic, highlighting the struggles and emotional rollercoaster of nursing her unvaccinated toddler. She expresses the complexities of balancing protection with the desire for personal freedom, all while navigating the challenges of parenting in a post-COVID world. Despite her love for breastfeeding, she eagerly anticipates the day she can retire her nursing journey.