This morning I read an article about what it’s like for an American to nurse her baby while living in a foreign culture. She and her husband had moved to Mongolia and she was surprised to find how honored and prevalent nursing was in that country. Not only were the mothers quite free to nurse in public, they often nursed until the child was at least 6 years old. In the article a story was told about a mother who watched as a whole family helped distract a young toddler--the mother by raising her top and waving her breasts, the grandmother doing the same, and the grandfather being equally ridiculous and waving his chest around. I was promised an awesome read. How is this awesome? I discontinued reading because that mental image was enough for me to make a decision about whether or not I wanted to listen to this person’s opinion anymore.
When my son was born and the first time I nursed him, it hurt. It hurt a lot. I found out later that he never latched well which is why I was left with sore and cracked nipples while still in the hospital. Breastfeeding for me wasn’t a joyful, bonding experience. Most nights when I woke up to that little mousey cry of hunger, I groaned inside with dread. Here we go again. The little leach needs his dose. The times I needed to supplement with a bottle were the sweet times when I could look down at his peaceful face, complete with the raised eyebrows of surprise when the food came so quickly and I could hear him gulping--something that rarely happened with me.
I’m not writing this to say that giving a baby formula is better for him than nursing him is. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am however writing because I had become so bogged down in guilt for not being able to nurse my child well that there was no happiness or joy in feeding him because I only felt the pressure that this was something I HAD to do and even though I wasn’t good at it, I had to give all my energy to producing as much milk as I could and then I was being a good mother. One well meaning friend told me about a woman who attached some kind of contraption to herself in which formula and breastmilk would flow from her breasts to her child. “If she can do all that, surely you can . . . .”
Sometimes you simply cannot do “what you were made to do.” Sometimes part of living in a fallen world is living in a body that doesn’t function quite like it should. Before you start to think, “Psh, she just gave up way too early,” let me enlighten you. Know those mother’s milk cookies? Yeah. Ate those. I tried fenugreek, mallunggay (the only thing that helped at all!), oatmeal, beer, brewer’s yeast, mother’s milk tea, drinking so much water I felt like I was drowning, and anything else that someone recommended to me. And my whole experience nursing I never quite produced enough to exclusively nurse my child. The poor little fellow never got chubby. He was always a little skinny guy and I always felt like that was a reflection on my lack of ability.
That has been one of the most difficult lessons for me to learn while being a parent--sometimes you’re put into a situation that you cannot handle.
Praise God for His blessings!
God has been teaching me through raising this child that I cannot do it all. I cannot nurse my child until he’s 6. I cannot keep my house forever company-ready. I cannot always be creative in making my family’s meals. I cannot be always organized in my comings and goings. Sometimes the checkbook is accidentally left at home and I have to turn around and make the 20 minute drive back to get it. I cannot raise a perfect child. I cannot raise a good child. So very little about how my child will “end up” is based on what I do. For the first few months that terrified me. I still don’t have warm fuzzies about it, but I don’t panic so much about it because God has been teaching me that He does that.
God provides food for His children--whether it be through breastmilk or formula. God provides energy for me to occasionally clean my house to my standards. God provides resources of creativity in meal prep. God provides clarity of thought some days when I am in my right mind and have functioned without a hitch. God provides people to influence me in how I teach my child. God is raising my child and He chooses to use me--whether it be a great moment of influence or whether it be just as someone who has facilitated the growth of this kiddo from conception to graduation.
My mind flashes back to nursing. So much mommy guilt associated with feeding our children! Moms who are able and inclined to nurse their children for years and years, please feel free to do so! God gave you the ability and desire to provide in this way for your family. Rejoice in it! Mothers who aren’t able or inclined to nurse their children for years and years--God gave you a realization of your limitations. This is an opportunity to learn how to rely on God. Don’t waste this opportunity to see how God is using this situation. Because of my lack of ability to nurse my kiddo as well as I wanted to, I’ve noticed so many more encounters with other mothers who faced the exact same thing and we’ve been able to encourage each other in our weaknesses. We are able to tell each other what we’re learning--we can’t do it all. We’re more aware of having to rely on God’s provision more than we would be otherwise.
There’s enough pressure on moms as it is. Let’s not add nursing a shelf of idols.
