Happy Poetry Friday, friends....I am so pleased to be celebrating again!
Today I am sharing a new poem about the end of nursing my baby. I am slowly weaning him and the whole family seems to be moving on towards more "big kid" focused stuff. Less teething rings and mobiles and whole heck of a lot more Lego.
One of the pieces of motherhood that I really want to make fresh for myself is living a regret-free existence fully in the current stage my kids are experiencing. I love babies. But I hope I never let that inclination cloud my vision about 7 year olds or 15 year old boys or 35 year old sons. All stages are lovely. All stages matter. All stages should be desired and remembered and looked forward to hopefully.
A stage is ending at my house. This may be the last baby I nurse, we are thinking about being done with the baby stage. Its a momentous decision and it feels exciting and liberating as well as heavy and unnerving. I feel a lot of cultural pressure to "never want my babies to grow up" but truthfully, I think that's toxic. So here is my alternative take.....
Nursing My Last
I have made boys out of milk.
I have watched their thighs bulge,
And their hair emerge like cornsilk,
Small ideas quickening in their eyes
As warm white liquid poured into
Their verdant bodies.
I have had a prism of maternal life.
There were stained glass mornings
With snuggly Madonna feedings
And nights of caught-breath rage
After a jagged bite in the felted dark,
Cradling my chest and roaring at
The swaddled baby.
This life-giving beginning stage is
An amazing, vulnerable, terrifying
Kind of magic.
All full of Now.
Beyond supply, infections, latch,
Weaning, herbal teas, night feedings,
Cabbage leaves, mastitis, pumping,
Le Leche League, Dr. Sears,
Sheila Kitzinger, blebs, letdown,
colostrum, milk comas, hindmilk
and learning to nurse lying down...
There has been the lesson of
Now.
Pausing wherever it was needed.
Nursing in strange and sacred places.
Quitting urgent or exciting things.
I have learnt it four times now.
In the clasp of infant teachers.
Stop.
Be.
One of the pieces of motherhood that I really want to make fresh for myself is living a regret-free existence fully in the current stage my kids are experiencing. I love babies. But I hope I never let that inclination cloud my vision about 7 year olds or 15 year old boys or 35 year old sons. All stages are lovely. All stages matter. All stages should be desired and remembered and looked forward to hopefully.
A stage is ending at my house. This may be the last baby I nurse, we are thinking about being done with the baby stage. Its a momentous decision and it feels exciting and liberating as well as heavy and unnerving. I feel a lot of cultural pressure to "never want my babies to grow up" but truthfully, I think that's toxic. So here is my alternative take.....
Nursing My Last
I have made boys out of milk.
I have watched their thighs bulge,
And their hair emerge like cornsilk,
Small ideas quickening in their eyes
As warm white liquid poured into
Their verdant bodies.
I have had a prism of maternal life.
There were stained glass mornings
With snuggly Madonna feedings
And nights of caught-breath rage
After a jagged bite in the felted dark,
Cradling my chest and roaring at
The swaddled baby.
This life-giving beginning stage is
An amazing, vulnerable, terrifying
Kind of magic.
All full of Now.
Beyond supply, infections, latch,
Weaning, herbal teas, night feedings,
Cabbage leaves, mastitis, pumping,
Le Leche League, Dr. Sears,
Sheila Kitzinger, blebs, letdown,
colostrum, milk comas, hindmilk
and learning to nurse lying down...
There has been the lesson of
Now.
Pausing wherever it was needed.
Nursing in strange and sacred places.
Quitting urgent or exciting things.
I have learnt it four times now.
In the clasp of infant teachers.
Stop.
Be.
Oh, this is so lovely. I am at a really similar stage. Lewis is starting to nurse less and less, and he is just about at the age where the girls weaned. It's been over 7 years of nursing between the 3 of them, so I have such complicated feelings about this stage of life ending. It does feel heavy, but like you said, I feel our family moving out of these baby years into something else that will be different but also joyful and beautiful.
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