My Supermom Breasts Are Ready to Retire

Do you have milk (and antibodies)? by Jenna Parker
March 3, 2022
Cavan Images/Getty Images

Last night, I sent my partner to sleep at his office after receiving a close contact notification, and let me tell you, my nipples are chapped about it. Not out of frustration with him, but rather with the situation itself. Our 6-year-old daughter is vaccinated, but our 3.5-year-old son isn’t eligible yet, so we’re trying our best to reduce his risk. That’s why he still nurses before naps and bedtime, even though he could easily ride Splash Mountain at Disneyland if he wanted to. Not that he’s ever been to an amusement park. He’s hardly ventured outside our home for over half his life.

At this point, our extended breastfeeding is less about bonding and more about wrapping my little one in a blanket of protection. I’d stop tomorrow if I could, but I’m clinging to the hope of providing him with potential antibodies.

“Time for your milk medicine,” I say twice a day. My son giggles. I chuckle too, but I’m also sobbing inside. I never intended to nurse this long.

We’ve had our fair share of challenges. In December 2019, my then 17-month-old son was evaluated by a speech therapist. He has lip and tongue ties and a high arched palate, which means the roof of his mouth isn’t rounded like most. While these issues aren’t severe, they left him with a weak tongue that struggled to draw food to the back of his throat. Even with me mashing or pre-chewing his food like a mama bird (I know, I know), he still depended on breastmilk for a good portion of his calories.

The therapist sighed as she watched him nurse, “Oh, his latch is so shallow; no wonder it hurts you so much.” So that was the reason his sweet little lips felt like clamps? She assigned us a variety of mouth exercises to strengthen his tongue and jaw. She encouraged us to continue nursing until he could eat more successfully or decided to wean.

I sighed as I smeared peanut butter inside his cheeks to work his tongue, and had him blow air through straws to exercise his lips. I had wanted to wean, but he was nowhere near ready. When Covid hit soon after, I thought, well, we’re already deep in this breastfeeding journey. What’s a little longer?

I couldn’t have predicted the emotional rollercoaster we’d experience waiting for the vaccine for kids under 5. During the eight months between my first vaccine in March 2021 and my daughter’s in November, I convinced myself my toddler was likely better protected than my older child.

“Milk is my superpower!” I chanted internally as my son crawled into my lap while I worked. Maybe I’m saving a life today, I sighed, pulling my shirt down after the bath, book, and toothbrush routine. He’s finally eating well and drinking on his own. Soon he’ll be vaccinated, and I’ll finally be free. I held on month after month, hoping his first jab would come by the end of 2021, allowing me to retire my breasts for good.

Instead, 2022 brought Omicron and more frustrating vaccine delays for the youngest kids.

I’m not alone in nursing past my desired timeline during these pandemic times. Factors like food insecurity, picky eaters, and toddlers with oral challenges like mine are significant influences. However, another big factor is access. With more breastfeeding parents working from home, availability increases, keeping the supply chain strong. Plus, when you never leave home, who’s going to judge you for nursing beyond a certain age? (Because, of course, no matter how you feed your child—formula or breast, 6 months or 6 years, covered or not—someone’s always ready to share their opinions.)

It’s incredible to feel like my superhero breasts can help my son, and I’m grateful I’ve managed to keep going this long. But I’m more than ready to let the “milk medicine” dry up.

Last month, while nursing, I learned the first two doses of the Covid-19 vaccine for kids under 5 might get approved as early as March. I nearly floated out of bed with relief. Please, please, please, let me take my breasts off the menu. Then two weeks ago, we found out that the youngest children would have to wait even longer. Maybe in two or three months they’ll get that first Pfizer shot (maybe), then another three months total before they’re fully vaccinated. Or maybe Moderna will surprise us all with some news in March. Who knows? Meanwhile, enjoy the usual quarantines and missed preschool days whenever a random sniffle occurs.

Last week, the country gave up on masks. This week, I still have an unvaccinated toddler. At this point, my nipples are as cracked as the rest of me.

Jenna Parker is the author of Inside Passage, a memoir about a nomadic childhood along the rugged coast of Southeast Alaska. Her work has been featured in The New York Times, WIRED, Brevity, and more. She lives and writes on Séliš and Qlispé land. Follow her on Twitter @jennaparker and Instagram @jennaparker.

If you’re interested in more stories from the trenches, check out this blog post for further insights. You can also explore this resource for valuable information on fertility. For a great source on pregnancy and home insemination, visit Kindbody.

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Summary:

In this personal narrative, Jenna Parker shares her experience of extended breastfeeding during the pandemic, discussing the complexities and challenges of nursing her son who is not yet vaccinated. While she initially embraced the closeness that breastfeeding provided, she now views it as a protective measure against health risks. Despite her desire to wean, she continues nursing in hopes of providing her child with antibodies, all while navigating the uncertain landscape of COVID-19 vaccinations for young children.

My Supermom Breasts Are Ready to Retire

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