On Milk and Equality and Nighttime Parenting

A few weeks ago, we began the process of night-weaning Leo. For those unfamiliar with the term, night-weaning refers to weaning a baby or toddler from breastfeeding at night (while daytime nursing is not restricted). For us, "night" is defined as the hours between bedtime (7:00-8:00 p.m.) and about 5:00 a.m. Our other kids were older when we closed down the nurse-all-night breastmilk bar, so we weren't sure how it would work for a younger toddler with more limited communication skills. But I remembered wishing--after I night-weaned Luke and Jaz at 18 months--that I had done it months earlier (before the sleep deprivation really made me crazy), so we decided to try it, with our wee 13-month-old (I tend to take the approach of trying new parenting ideas, even if I don't feel sure of the outcome: we can't know if we don't try, and we can always change our minds). And it's worked out just splendidly. Instead of nursing him when he wakes in the night (no, unfortunately, night-weaning typically does not fully eliminate night-waking), we just snuggle him back to sleep. The first couple of nights were a little rough--Leo cried some in our arms--but since then it's been remarkably smooth sailing. Leo lets out a whimper, we spoon him close to us, and he's instantly back to sleep.

The big deal here, as far as I'm concerned, is that we're both equally able to nighttime parent Leo now. Previously, I could nurse Leo back to sleep if he woke when Lena was unavailable, but it was always rather stressful (he'd fuss on and off at my breast, and clearly be looking for Lena). While my new found ability to quickly comfort Leo in the night is lovely--and relieving for Lena, who had been nearly solely responsible for putting Leo to bed and getting him back to sleep when he'd wake--in and of itself, I've been shocked by the unanticipated effect it's had on my daytime relationship with him.

Leo nurses with me more and more frequently these days
(laptop camera self-portrait: low-quality photo)

It is hard for me to admit this--I feel so passionately about breastfeeding and mothering through breastfeeding--but Lena choosing to stop nursing Leo in the night has really been to the benefit of my relationship with him. He is more easily comforted by me during the day, and seems less as though he is looking for Lena around every corner when she's gone. Sometimes he even chooses me for comfort when Lena is home. I am simply thrilled with the new state of things. If I had come to feel like Leo truly was my son before, I'm feeling it at least ten times more strongly now. Or rather, it feels much more reciprocal now than it did previously.

Some friends of ours--a two-mom family with two kids, wherein each mom gestated one of the babies--recently weaned their two-year-old all together (no daytime or nighttime nursing). And his non-gestational mother was telling me about how even though the decision was incredibly difficult for his gestational mom--and was not without significant loss and grief--there's been an equal and opposite positive impact for her, the NGP. And I can definitely understand that now, how the breastfeeding relationship--so rewarding and special, but also rather exclusive--can keep a non-breastfeeding parent (or, in my case, a minimally breastfeeding parent) at some level of distance. That said, our current experience leads me to believe that it is the nighttime parenting--more than the breastfeeding specifically--that is making the most difference. Kids are often at their most vulnerable in the night, and someone who is able to comfort and soothe them during that time is then more likely to be able to comfort and soothe them during the day.

nursing hormones + sun on my face = total bliss

As pleased as I am with this new experience of parenting a night-weaned version of Leo, I don't wish that we had night-weaned him any earlier. I think it's important for babies to be able to nurse through the night at least through the first year of life. And, even if I'd known then what I do now--about how positively Leo's and my relationship would be affected by the night-weaning--I still would have supported Lena in choosing to continue to nurse Leo through the night indefinitely, for as long as she so desired (as it was, she was becoming increasingly sleep deprived, which is what prompted the decision to night-wean).

Frequently, in my experience as Leo's non-gestational mom, this conflict arises between what I believe to be the best choice for any baby and gestational mother, and my own desire to have as equal a role in mothering Leo as possible. It began when he was just born, and Leo was placed on Lena's chest for his first couple hours of life. Of course I wanted very much to take him in my own arms, to feel his little body pressed against mine, to breathe him in and kiss him everywhere. But even more than what I wanted for myself, I wanted Lena to have the experience of constant contact with him, of relishing the feeling of having just pushed a baby out and loving his body on the outside for the first time. And for Leo, I wanted him to remain in earshot of Lena's heartbeat and in smelling distance of her breasts. I knew that my time with him would come eventually, and it did.

Likewise, when Lena started back to work a few months after Leo was born, it would have been most convenient for me to be able to feed him her expressed milk (either by bottle or with an at-the-breast supplementer). Beyond convenience, it would have allowed me the experience of being able to fully meet Leo's needs all day long, of feeling free to go about my day as I would have had I been Leo's gestational mother: spontaneously choosing to go out to lunch with friends, or making a visit to my grandparents, who live a little over an hour away. But instead, Lena and I chose not to have her express her milk. Her job allowed her to work mostly from home, and it was no trouble for her to take a break to nurse Leo every couple of hours. This meant that the two of them never had to be separated for longer than the time between feedings (which I myself never would have been able to handle, when I was the gestational mother), Leo never had to suck on an artificial nipple, and Lena never had to make milk for a breast pump in place of a baby. Unfortunately, this arrangement--while ideal for Lena and Leo--sometimes left me feeling like more of a baby-sitter than a parent; I had to keep my eyes on the clock, and rush home with Leo so that he could nurse when he got hungry. But that felt like an acceptable consequence for being able to preserve Lena and Leo's full-time breastfeeding relationship.

While I would have loved to be able to co-sleep with Leo in his first year, my arms circling his warm body, feeling the rhythm of his little breaths on my neck, I wanted even more for Lena to get to experience it (as I had with our other babies). I wanted her to see how her instincts would cause her to awaken just before he did, offering the breast when he'd only just begun to squirm, nursing him back to sleep without even fully waking up herself. I wanted Lena and Leo to get to continue being one in as many ways as possible, for as long as possible. Because that is my wish for every single gestational-mama-and-baby pair, certainly not to the exclusion of a pair--Lena and Leo--so very close to my heart.

I accidentally nursed him to sleep

This go-round, Lena and I have managed to mother our baby way more equally than we were ever able to in the past (largely due to the fact that we were both only working part-time through his first year, whereas previously I was the sole at-home parent and Lena worked full-time). We've even been able to fulfill my long-term dream and take advantage of all four of our breasts. But still, I wouldn't say that our roles in Leo's life have been equal. Sure, I kept the sperm that contributed to his conception warm in my bra prior to the insemination, but Lena grew him in her body from a tiny zygote to a 7-lb person! I think that to expect a fully equal experience of parenting baby Leo would have been misguided and inappropriate. That said, as Leo gets bigger--and becomes increasingly independent--I certainly appreciate the growing significance of my role in mothering him. And I know that a few years from now, none of this: who nursed him when, who slept with him more, even who gestated him, will feel relevant.

I continue to be grateful for having my eyes and heart opened to the experience of non-gestational parenthood, and have no regrets about the way we've chosen to mother Leo for the past 13.5 months. And I will continue to rejoice in each sign I get--from Leo, from my own reactions--of my strengthening bond and attachment to this most beloved little one.

Lena and Leo, nursing on the beach