Gee, Diane, I guess either I'm strange or there was some other mammalian
instinct at work when baby number two arrived.
(By the way, sample of two: 9.5 uninterrupted years of nursing; first son
nursed for 3 years, 11 months and never looked back - though had night-
weaned at around three years of age; second son born when big brother was
2 yrs. 8.5 months - tandem nursed for 15 months, and weaned at 6.5 yrs.,
though still at approaching age of 10 extremely affectionate with "his"
beloved "beebies" - at one point called them the Vera Sisters ;-)).
When I became pregnant with number two - and I didn't know if I was having
a boy or girl, or that it would make one bit of difference to my high-needs
little king - I spent most of the second half of my pregnancy worried about
said little king. More so than about the impending arrival, since I just knew
that, heartwarming stories of the blessed rivalry-banishing effects of shared
nursing notwithstanding, my Nate hadn't read that LLL book and was going to
be in for the rudest shock of his young life. (In fact, his super Spirited
temperament managed to get me ousted from my own LLL group by my co-
Leader...but that's another story!!).
I was right about King Nate's reaction to having his throne usurped. What
surprised me, though, was my own mommy tigress response to seeing this tiny
little helpless newborn. I had been so focussed on Nate that Jeremy was
nearly as much of an abstraction to me as he had been to his big brother -
until he was there before me, this amazing little guy who needed to nurse to
survive. In no way would I have dreamed of cutting off Nate from his
cherished source of closeness and comfort, but this immediate, intense
response on my part to the new guy was a real jolt.
I still cringe when I think of the emotional rollercoaster of those early days,
weeks and months. I thought I was a horrible mother because I seemed
perpetually on edge with Nate, who really knew how to push those mommy
buttons. But by golly, here was this defenseless infant...So obviously,
something else was at play here than the instinct to preserve at all cost the
already invested in and established child.
Personality type definitely is part of the picture, though. Nate was always a
daddy's boy, much as he looked to me for all his nursing needs and daytime
interactions. This was how he came to night-wean at age three. All of us
were in the family bed and *each* time Jeremy woke to feed, there was Nate
HOWLING for me. A month of this and I was a basket case, and so my
husband took over and gently transitioned him to a futon. He never woke at
night after that point. And Jeremy happily nursed into the first grade,
continuing to be a non-separating-from-Mommy kind of kid until around that
point.
Sorry for the length of this post, but you know how your memories get your
juices flowing (no pun intended)! Thanks for your patience, those who read all
the way through...
Warmly,
Marjorie in Brooklyn
LLLL, IBCLC, Mom
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