On the first day of our shelter-in-place order, my son nursed all day long at 22 months old. I thought to myself, “Oh no.” I had originally planned to breastfeed for a year—maybe 18 months at most—because I had a book coming out in mid-2020 and envisioned touring without him for days at a time. Additionally, I found breastfeeding to be quite demanding, and I wanted to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
However, when he reached a year old, it was evident that he wasn’t ready to wean, and surprisingly, neither was I. By that time, he was eating solid foods, so “mama milk” wasn’t a constant demand. Yet, my perspective on breastfeeding transformed through the daily experience. Instead of viewing it as a hindrance to my ambitions, I began to see it as a meaningful act of connection, a political statement even. I was actively participating in the sustenance of my child, making a bold reproductive choice several times a day that contrasted with societal expectations.
By the time he was 22 months, I started feeling restless for a break. I found myself longing for a night off, reminiscing about long-expired edibles and dreaming of sleeping in, uninterrupted by morning nursing sessions. A few months before the lockdown, I had cautiously begun to wean him. One morning, he even forgot to ask for milk when he woke up, which stirred a mix of emotions within me. I excitedly called a friend to share, “I think he’s starting to wean himself!” to which she replied, “Congratudolences!”
Then the pandemic hit. My toddler’s routine—where he spent two days at daycare and three days with my parents—disappeared. Suddenly, we were home together around the clock, and he only wanted to nurse. That first week, it was like a dream come true for him.
“Want to play with blocks?” “No! I wanna nurse!”
“How about a bath?” “Bath is silly! Nursing, nursing!”
“Maybe… let’s look out the window?” “I don’t like windows! Nuuuurrrrssse!!!”
In the months that followed, he fell back into old habits—nursing for comfort, rest, and consolation. With us being home together all the time, and with limited options during those early weeks, it was no surprise he sought comfort in nursing. I felt despondent. While I recognized the benefits of breastfeeding a toddler and felt fortunate to have that choice—many parents do not—I worried about how I’d manage my upcoming book tour, a dream I had since before becoming a parent. How could I get anything done working from home with a child always attached to me? And those edibles! When would I finally savor them?
But then my reasoning began to fade. I realized my book tour would be virtual, and I learned to create a quiet workspace away from him. Eventually, I figured out how to say, “You can’t nurse now, but you can nurse later!” in a cheerful tone that would calm him down and buy me a couple of hours. The allure of edibles didn’t seem worth sacrificing the joy of nursing, especially since nursing releases its own delightful chemicals. Did I really want to trade all that warm oxytocin for THC?
I also discovered that breastfeeding was incredibly useful during our time at home. It became a tool for soothing, preparing for naps, and a clever way for me to check my phone while he nursed. Nursing wasn’t merely a burden; it transformed into a strategic method for coping with the pandemic.
As I adjusted to the reality of extended nursing, my initial anxieties about weaning faded. With no book tour or work obligations, there was no urgency to stop, as long as we both chose to continue. On my days off, I began to look forward to his nursing requests; in a chaotic world, these moments became our serene downtime. It’s hard to move around while nursing, so I learned to embrace the stillness. Eventually, I even reduced how often I checked my phone during our sessions.
Breastfeeding has taught me the value of patience and waiting. Though nursing may seem like doing nothing, it’s hard work that transforms your body into a source of nourishment. Much of parenting involves this kind of waiting—ensuring toddlers eat safely or watching them closely at the beach—even if it appears effortless to outsiders.
Throughout the pandemic, this skill of waiting has become even more crucial for everyone. While the wait for vaccine shots and declining COVID numbers certainly carries more weight than a nursing session, the lessons remain applicable. I have always struggled with patience and accepting stillness, but my toddler’s ongoing nursing has provided me with daily lessons in the art of waiting.
Now, over a year later, as my child’s third birthday approaches, I wonder if I will stop nursing. Will he naturally lose interest when he starts preschool, or will I need to determine a cutoff date? I don’t know. But for the time being, I choose to embrace uncertainty, allowing these questions to linger while I breathe deeply and see where this waiting leads us.
If you’re interested in more on this topic, check out this post at Home Insemination Kit, and for a deeper dive into fertility, visit Science Daily.
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In summary, what began as a plan to wean my toddler before his second birthday transformed into an unexpected journey of patience during the pandemic. I learned that breastfeeding can be both a source of nourishment and a coping mechanism, allowing me to embrace our unique situation while letting go of rigid expectations.
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