A Part of Me

Here is a little something I found today while flipping through an old notebook. I wrote it in a state of awe in the relationship I had with my son and how mothering through breastfeeding really shaped that bond.



A Part of Me

When you came into being, you were a part of me
small, tiny, almost unnoticed
Only the changes in my body told me
you were real
Twenty weeks passed before the first kick,
the first push
So alien the feeling of someone inside of me,
a part of me, kicking, turning, twisting, growing
Giving me such elation, such joy
You grew in my womb, attached yourself to my heart
as you prepared to exit my body

When you were born, you were a part of me
small, tiny, uncoordinated, with bright blue eyes
You cooed as you nursed, suckling long and often,
unwilling to be parted from me
Always touching, always learning, always growing

More than eight hundred days have passed,
and you are still a part of me
Still close, still touching, nursing,
as we lie belly to belly, skin to skin
One warm arm draped over my breast,
one knee tucked snugly between mine,
halfway between sleep and waking
I watch you suckle, knowing that someday it will cease,
that your need for me will subside

For now though, you nurse contentedly,
taking in as much of me as you can,
drinking me up until you are satisfied,
until your need has been met

But even though you will grow up and away from me,
our bond is strong, flexible, unbreakable.
You will always be a part of me, even as you fly free.



My littlest one just turned 1 last week, and I am still tandem nursing her and her almost-3-year-old sister. Their brother, for whom this poem was written has long since weaned, although long past the age that many would consider "normal." I realized that so many wouldn't even blink an eye if I weaned my little one on or around her first birthday. They would say I'd done well; heck, some would say I'd nursed too long. I can't imagine their faces if they knew I was nursing two, that I planned to let them nurse as long as they wished. I still tell the older one no when I'm wiped out or just can't take two right now, and there are delays and other limitations, but the big decision is still up to them. Only they know when they are feeling strong and independent enough to let that part of our relationship go. And heaven knows that on the days I am exhausted or snappy, nursing brings us back to a peaceful, happy place because you just can't be mad when you're attached to them (literally), as at that moment, they are as much a part of you as your heart.

So, I look back on this poem, unabashedly remembering the warm, sensual nature of nursing: the inexplicable physical and emotional bond that grants miracles to sick and premature babies and also does wonders for just those normal, run-of-the-mill children, too (do run-of-the-mill children actually exist?) J

(Note: Please seek my permission before reprinting this poem.)