'Breast is best' until mom, baby are ready

 I do not live in the Bible Belt.  I live in the Bible Bra.  Never had I
encountered so much meddling as when people discovered I was still nursing a
child who possessed eight teeth, a head full of hair and the ability to
string sentences.
 By their appalled reactions, one might have assumed I was putting a
teenager to breast, not a 20-month old toddler.  Last spring, while in a
department store restroom discreetly nursing so that shopping could continue
in relative peace, a woman walked in and stared with disdain.  "How old is
that child?" she snapped as she placed her parcels on the counter.  "She's
in middle school, "I lied kissing the top of my tot's head.  The woman made
some muffled comment just as the water came rushing from the faucet.  And it
's not just strangers who offer unsolicited commentary concerning the
goings-on of others' glands.  It's friends and relatives, including-and
especially-including my mother, who chirped for an entire year: "When are
you gonna wean that child?"  Then they'd grow horrified upon seeing her tug
at my blouse, reaching into a battered brassiere as if fishing for popcorn
at the bottom of a bag.  When my then toddler would purr, "Miiiiiilk," in
that little Southern accent of hers, you could almost feel the wind from the
sighing and head shaking these adults deemed their duty to submit. How could
they be offended by such an adorable act, such a natural, loving expression
of motherhood?  How could they not know that this was good for her, good for
me, good for society?  Good for the thighs?
 One summer when the baby was 15 months old, she stayed with my parents
overnight, giving my mother ample opportunities to pry the child from
Playtex.  She offered her Coke, Kool-Aid, candy, chocolate milk and other
junk foods.  Later in the day as the family lounged with the setting sun by
the pool-toddler in Dad's lap-my parents discovered just how attached to
nursing this child was.  Daddy had removed his shirt and was slouching
enough that his chest drew interest.  The baby hungrily honed in on his
ample cleavage.  In her eyes, lactation seemed possible.  She leaned in for
a closer look and then a scream split the air.  She saw those old black
hairs and red moles and couldn't stop crying," my mother said, laughing
until tears streaked her face.  I told my mom and her troop of hens that the
American Academy of Pediatricians, not to mention La Leche Leaguers all over
the world, agree the breast is best for as long as a mother and child feel
comfortable with the arrangement.  And though nursing until age 2 was still
a pleasurable experience most of the time, I buckled to pressure and tried
telling my child, "All gone," or "No more milk, Sweetheart."  She'd look up
with those huge brown eyes and they'd fill with tears and that would be it.
Finally, I decided to wean, at first employing traditional and
doctor-recommended methods such as tapering off or shortening the feedings.
When this didn't work, I listened to the voices of unreason.  "Put a little
vinegar on them," my mother-in-law said, so I did and it worked.  For about
five minutes.  The next day, remembering how my baby cowered upon seeing the
Abominable Snow Man in the "Rudolph" movie, I took a pack of washable Magic
Markers and drew the creature on my chest, jagged teeth included, hoping she
'd be deterred.  It worked.  For about five minutes.  Then she started
laughing and pointing, saying, "Snowman," as she dove in for the kill.  I
washed off quickly, before someone called Social Services, and decided the
mural method wasn't going to work either.
 The next day, as I sat in the rocker trying to relax, she toddled up with a
fistful of markers.  She yanked my blouse to the side, pushed a red Magic
Marker into my hand, and said, "Snowman.  Draw snowman, please."  At that
point I had two problems.  A toddler who not only wanted a meal at the
Mammary, but one who also requested art and atmosphere to complete her
dining pleasure.  Eventually, long before she turned 3, she quit on her own.
So to all those in the Bible Bra and beyond who feel it their social and
moral obligation to nip nursing in the bud, relax.  It will happen when it
should.  When it's time.

Susan Reinhardt is a columnist and feature writer for the Ashville (N.C)
Citizen Times.  She can be reached at:
sreinhardt @citizen.times.com.

Ann Marie Henninger

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