2,133 Days: I Did That

This morning, my 18 month old carried his nursing pillow to me, dropped it at my feet and then looked confused on what he was doing. When I asked him what he wanted, he started to sign the word for “milk,” but got it jumbled and then just walked away. It’s been a week and a half since I last nursed him. How quickly he forgot. How quickly it all fades from their minds. How long I will remember.

For 5 years, 10 months and 3 days consecutively, my body sustained the life of one and sometimes two of my children. For two thousand, one hundred and thirty three days I knowingly grew a life, fed a life or both. For nearly six years, my body has not been my own, but has been at the whim and mercy of another.

On our anniversary trip six years ago, I used the magic that is progesterone to alter my cycle – it didn’t work. What it did do was allow me to get pregnant for the first time in three years of marriage. As we sat on that trip and I whispered that I wanted a baby, unbeknownst to me, God was about to use the progesterone in my system to give me a dream I’d only begun to dream.

And the rest, as they say, is history. Less than two months later, I peed on a stick for the first time and discovered I was going to be a mom. My whole world tilted. Since that date, when I knew I was growing a baby inside me, I have grown three healthy, beautiful, funny, kind, incredible kids. And when I was done giving birth to them, I nursed them. For fourteen months, and by then I was pregnant with #2. Then for 17 months, and by then I was pregnant with #3. And for the last nearly 18 months (one week shy), I have nursed and poured myself out for this giant of a baby (literally, he’s off the growth chart for height).

….And now?

Now, I’m done. I’m not pregnant, and I’m not nursing. It’s a lonely place to be, if I’m being honest. Friends all say, “You must be so excited to be done!” And while it’s freeing to give the baby cheese before bed instead of milk, I miss it. I miss the heavy weight on my lap. I miss the warmth of their snuggles and the way they fell asleep and let the milk dribble out. I miss those few moments of alone time each day with each baby – a time for me to sing to them and play with their hair and watch the gloriousness of what God created.

When I was pregnant and nursing, my body worked. For the first time in my life, my body cooperated. It did what it was supposed to do. It did what God designed it to do, with no need for interference. My body was a milk-making machine. When Sugar Plum lost 12% birthweight in the hospital, I nursed her overnight and she gained 5 ounces in a day. When sicknesses ran rampant through our friend groups, I nursed my babies and shared my antibodies and immunity with them. When my 3rd showed that he wouldn’t take a bottle and yet wanted to eat constantly, I nursed the biggest baby in Denver to his giant size (I joke, but seriously). It was a huge accomplishment, but more than that, it was purpose for me.

I feel a little adrift. But even more than that, I just feel sad. I could see so much of each of their personalities in the way they nursed. Sugar Plum was gentle – she stroked my breast with her tiny hand, literally coaxing the milk into her mouth. Mighty Guy was busy – he usually treated my thumb like a joystick, just there for him to play with and maneuver while he did the necessary work to fill his belly. And Big Easy….there was nothing easy about him. His favorite trick was to grab a handful of my tender breast and twist and yank and smile at me as if it was the best game ever. He had an unusually sharp upper portion of his mouth, so even before his games, nursing him was painful. And yet, I loved it. I miss it.

We’re not conclusively ruling out future babies and nurslings, but after 2,133 days, my body feels done. For now, it seems like it’s the end of this era. I don’t know how to be happy about these days drawing to a close, and in my heart, I’m hoping that if we adopt, I will be able to nurse those babies too.

What a gift these days have been. What a beautiful, unexpected, unwarranted blessing. And when I’m sad about these days being over, I’m looking at my three beautiful, strong, healthy, tall, smart and amazing kids and reminding myself, “I did that.”