The last feed

A year ago today Smalley had his last feed. Mark and I had a night for ourselves coming up meaning Albug and Smalley were off to their grandparents for a night away. 

I hadn’t planned to stop feeding that evening, I trusted that he would be fine with them just with a cup. In fact I suspected, as turned out to be true, that he would settle really well for them and sleep better for them than he did for us. 

But it was time for us. At that point he was only having a feed at bedtime. And it had got so that point where I wasn’t sure how much he was feeding, it was more playing and a favourite hobby than nourishment in the nutritional sense.  As it is, he accepted the last feed without fuss and I’ve only ever looked back with nostalgia, never regret.

I feel it’s important to highlight though that Smalley loved feeding. Loved it. From the age of two he would giggle, cackle and kick about with joy when he knew a feed was coming. He would continue giggling through the feed, looking up at me with his big smiling face! Even now, he has the classic breastfed baby instinct of trying to put his hand down my top when he needs comfort. Or anytime really; the bonds made run deep. 

And not only that, for me, it stopped me from getting so caught up in life that I didn’t make time for him.  Having my day out with Albs at the end of the summer holidays was so special and exceptional because with no other distractions we could be so close. Every queue, even though they were short, we pretty much hugged through. I kept lifting him up so he could be at the same eye level as we chatted. We held hands as we ran from ride to ride. 

Without breastfeeding, George could have sorted himself out, fed himself with a bottle, without me needing to be near. Without breastfeeding that regular prompt for affection wouldn’t be there and as I’m someone who does find it easy to get caught up in life, and as I encourage my children to grow and be independent I’m so grateful that breastfeeding kept me in check. Kept me ensuring that for at least ten minutes every few hours, I was prioritising my child and responding to his needs.

However, I know that us ardent breastfeeders can lose sight of the fact that there are lots of ways to bond with your baby. And at that age, Smalley was getting cuddles every second and was being carried everywhere (which, really is very similar to now if we’re honest).  Knowing that as he started approaching his third birthday we’d be nearing the end of our feeds I’d already started reading him two books about the last feed. Both books were simple but great. They highlighted how special feeding is but how special everything else could be. I think they helped prep him, I know they helped prep me. Reminding me of all the other ways we can show love - not only to our children but to all. 

As I finish this post Smalley is lying on me, as of to prove a point about the depths of unconditional love. He fell asleep in the car on the way home having struggled with a cough all day and is now asleep in his school socks, jumper and shirt (plus a nappy). 

I always knew I wanted to breastfeed. I’d had a complicated relationship with my breasts growing up - being larger chested came with attention I never wanted, but it meant I went in to breastfeeding determined it was going to work. That my body was going to excel at this as it’s way of paying me back for the discomfort of my teenage years. And it did. The whole process was an absolute breeze and I’m so grateful for that. 

Whilst I entered breastfeeding with a clear, determined goal I’d never worked out an exit strategy. I fed Albs for 19 months, Smalley for 31 months. And whilst it did have to end at some point, I’m bloody proud of how long I kept going for. What’s more, most of the boys early months/years are a sleep deprived blur with big gaps in my memory but I do remember the feeds - I remember sitting in the hospital chair with Alby feeding him just hours after he was born, I remember having to learn how to feed Albs in the pouch for the first time when he had a meltdown in Wilkos, I remember the night time feeds, the TV feeds, the embarrassing public feeds where I almost definitely showed more than I should. I remember Albs used to cough on the let down causing him to release and me to spray (such a glam thing breastfeeding!) And I remember them feeding for comfort, not needing milk but needing to be close, to be lost pressed up against me. 

Breastfeeding empowered me, grew the respect I have for my body and was an amazing thing to have available in my boys early years.  And, as I write this post feeling quite overwhelmed with nostalgia, it reinforces the truth of how important human touch is in all our relationships as well as the importance of making time for each other.