Donna Speaks: Giving up the Tit

You know, if you've read my blog posts, that I had three sons who are now three handsome, intelligent, wonderful men.  When a mother says that, she means that her children no longer live with her, they all have jobs, and they are financially independent.  These are the three hallmarks of successful parenting.

I breast fed all three boys: the oldest, for almost a year; the middle, for about six months; and, the youngest, for only about four months.  The reason for the decreasing time breast-feeding was not a lack of commitment on my part, but sibling rivalry and the fact that all three boys had minds of their own.  

My oldest had no competitors except, at a year old, a nasty case of an intestinal virus that necessitated a week long hospitalization of IV fluids. With nothing by mouth, weaning became inevitable.

My middle son had little competition from his older brother; he was in preschool.  So competition wasn't really what caused his wean.  My middle son determined his own fate.  

He was around six months old and decided the only time he wanted to breast feed was between two and four in the morning.

He didn't wanna suckling when normal babies do.  No, not for breakfast in the morning, when he awoke.  No cuddle with mommy then.  And, it was also a "No thanks, mom" when he was ready for bed at night.  Not this baby boy. 

Swear to whomever you swear to, he'd wake me up every-single-morning-between-two-and-four and yell-scream-wail-whine til I answered his primal call.

For several weeks, the whole house endured these four to five hours long, early morning tantrums from Number Two Son.  And I endured wearing a nursing bra to bed - over-stuffed with kleenex to absorb the leakage.

Then, through the brain fog caused by very little sleep and a screaming red-headed child, the solution became clear: Benign Neglect.

It took four to five straight nights ignoring the cacophony, but the babe gradually gave up, and hushed up.  Normalcy returned to our household.  Well, let me say, as normal as our household ever got. 

Number three son really never had a chance to breast-feed until he wanted to wean.

What happened is gonna be fodder for my next post.  That, and the Marshmallow Tales.

Have a great day, Miss Althea.