Periodically, I am invited to speak to mom-and-baby groups about breastfeeding. I really enjoy going, and most of the time a lively and engaging discussion results, and the moms who are present share with and learn from each other. I think it’s fabulous. After all, parenting is something you learn on the job. While books and videos and the like can be useful, nothing beats talking it out with other parents in the trenches. It’s especially great if they have children around the same age, so they understand where you’re coming from, and they can remember how they dealt with whatever issue you’re currently encountering.

One of the concerns that always comes up when you get a bunch of new moms together is sleep. It’s totally understandable, because sleep-deprivation is issue number one for many (most? all?) parents of young infants. At some point, we all face a conflict between our need for sleep, and our baby’s desire to party hard, well into the wee hours of the morning. It turns out that newborns can be shockingly inconsiderate when it comes to other people’s desire for a little peace and quiet.

When I was a new mother myself, I read Our Babies, Ourselves by Meredith Small. The book examines how babies are raised in different societies, and how our cultural beliefs and values about children affect our parenting. One of the main things that I took away from the book is that everyone does this parenting thing differently, so I should feel free to follow my own instincts and do my own thing, provided that “my own thing” wasn’t harmful to my child. That point comes into play for me as I listen to parents discuss sleep. There simply isn’t a single right answer when it comes to how much sleep your baby needs at night or during the day or how much sleep you need or how to make it all work.

There are experts who would disagree with me, and lay out set sleep routines and standards based on a baby’s age. Many of these experts are quick to point out that poor infant sleep happens because parents are somehow creating bad habits, which means you’re responsible for your infant’s night-waking. They use terms like “human pacifier” and give dire warnings about the dangers of infant sleep deprivation. The bad habits message doesn’t end with sleep, either. We’re giving our toddlers bad eating habits, teaching our children bad study habits, and we’re creating a whining epidemic, too.

When you have a little baby, and you already feel out of your depth, it doesn’t take much to totally undermine your confidence as a parent. Having an expert tell you that your child has bad habits that will harm them and that it’s probably all your fault will almost certainly take the wind out of your sails. When I had my first child I had no idea what I was doing most of the time, and I felt like I was constantly making mistakes. I would have done pretty much anything that someone suggested to avoid messing up as a parent any more than I already felt I had.

I’m no longer the mother of a newborn, I’m the mother of a three-year-old and a six-year-old. I wouldn’t call myself a seasoned parent, exactly, but I’ve successfully made it through infancy and toddlerhood twice, and I know a thing or two. For instance, I know that if something isn’t working for you, you can always change it. When it comes to sleep, for instance, I have switched things up more times than I can count as my children have grown and their needs and abilities have evolved. I also know that every baby is different, and no two children will respond in exactly the same way to any particular parenting technique. And finally, I know that none of those experts have spent any time in my house, with my kids, navigating my day.

As I said, if you’re not happy with something, you can change it. If you’re so sleep-deprived you can’t see straight, then by all means you should find a solution that works for your family. But the problem I have with dire warnings about bad habits is that they can create fear in someone who was previously totally fine. And these warnings don’t always come from experts – sometimes they come from concerned relatives, or that friend with the miracle baby who somehow does everything right, or random people on the street who feel that you need their parenting wisdom. Once that grain of self-doubt is introduced though, you’re not so fine anymore.

I’ve said this before on this blog, but I think it bears repeating: if your child is healthy, and things are working for you, that’s all that matters. You don’t need to worry that how you respond to your two-month-old will create a lifetime of bad sleep habits. It’s simply not true. Your two-month-old will grow into a four-month-old and a four-year-old and a forty-year-old, and the issues you’re grappling with now will have long since disappeared. Your child will have grown out of their current habits – good, bad and otherwise – and into entirely new ones. And most of the time, this will happen without any input from you, because growing and changing is what kids do best.

When I hear the moms at the mom-and-baby-group beat themselves up because they’re afraid they’re creating bad habits in their children, I just want to give them a hug. And then I want to insist the phrase bad habits never be used in reference to babies and toddlers. New parents already have all the fear they need and more, we don’t need to pile it on even higher.

What do you think? Do you think that warning parents against instilling bad habits in their babies is helpful, or harmful? Do you think that very young babies can even form habits at all? And if you have more than one child, did you see them respond differently to your parenting tips and tricks? I’d love to hear!

I am currently coming down with a cold. Or something. I have a sore throat and a fever. The point is that I’m not feeling super-eloquent. And so I’m sharing a post with you that originally ran over at Crunchy Domestic Goddess. Enjoy!

Every morning, now, I look at the calendar and take note of the date. Because every day could be the last day I ever breastfeed my son Jacob. And maybe the last day that I ever breastfeed for the rest of my life. My second-born is weaning, and while I have pangs, there aren’t any more babies on the horizon for me right now.

I breastfed Jacob’s big sister, Hannah, until she was almost three years old. A whole lot of factors led to her weaning, including my desire to conceive again (I wasn’t having much luck), my increasing physical discomfort as my milk supply dwindled, and my belief that Hannah was ready to move on. I took a fairly active role in the process, which happened over a number of months.

Breastfeeding my daughter Hannah at a picnic

I still remember the last time that I nursed Hannah. It was December 22, 2007. Some part of me likes that I know that date, and remember the occasion. Breastfeeding played a big part in my relationship with my daughter in her early years, and it feels fitting that I marked its conclusion, as well as its beginning. I want to do the same thing with my son. I don’t want breastfeeding to pass away without notice, even though that’s exactly what seems to be happening.

Jacob is 31 months old, right now – three full months younger than Hannah was the last time that she breastfed. I didn’t expect I would be here so soon with my son, to be honest. Most of my friends and acquaintances nursed their second babies as long or longer than their first. I’m not trying to get pregnant right now, and I have less angst in general over the state of my breastfeeding relationship with Jacob. I thought I would nurse him until his third birthday, at least.

Nursing Jacob as a baby

But Jacob, as it turns out, is a different person altogether than Hannah. He’s gradually decreased his nursing all on his own. When he asks to nurse and it’s not a good time, he’s much faster to accept an alternative like a drink of water or a cuddle. There are no tears when I decline his request, no existential anguish bubbling to the surface. He’s a pretty easygoing kid, and he’s moving on to the next phase of his life without a lot of fuss.

I’ve breastfed for the past 6 years, with a break of a little under eight months during my second pregnancy. As I contemplate the potential conclusion of my nursing career, I feel a little wistful. Can it really be possible that I’m not pregnant or breastfeeding? That I am no longer the mother of a nursling? Is this the last gasp of babyhood leaving my family? I’m not sure I’m ready to close this chapter in my life.

Now that Jacob is no longer nursing to sleep, there are a lot of books at bedtime

And yet, when I consider Jacob’s imminent weaning, I don’t feel sad. I feel remarkably content. For him and for me, this feels like a fitting end to our breastfeeding relationship. We’re both moving towards it in our own way, and at our own pace. He’s ready, and I’m ready. I’m ready to have my body entirely to myself for the first time since I conceived my daughter almost seven years ago. I’m confident that I have given my son the best start I could, and that he has gotten what he needed out of breastfeeding. I don’t feel a need to encourage him back to the breast or prolong our time as a nursing pair.

And so, again today, I looked at the calendar. He nursed once, and I tried to remember the details. Where were we? What was it like? Will this be the last time? I memorize as much as I can, in case Jacob doesn’t breastfeed tomorrow, or the next day, or ever again. If this is the last time, I don’t want to forget it.

I’d love to hear about your own weaning experience. What was it like for you? Do you remember the last time you nursed, or not? Were you happy with how things ended? Please share!

PS – In the time between the original post and today, Jacob did wean. The last time that he nursed was on April 13, 2011, when he was exactly 32 months old. It may be the last time I ever nurse a baby at all. It was a mostly mutual decision, and both Jacob and I have moved smoothly on to the next phase of our relationship. Although, sometimes, I do lament how very quickly he is growing.

My son Jacob is 2 1/2 years old now, and we are still breastfeeding. But slowly, slowly, I am feeling more and more ready to be done. And watching my son, I think that he is slowly becoming more ready to wean. He still likes breastfeeding rather a lot, but he asks to nurse less and less all the time, and he is more and more willing to accept alternatives, like a drink of water or a cuddle. I can tell that my milk supply has fallen off a lot, and I’m sure he can, too.

I see weaning as a journey, not necessarily a destination. With my firstborn, Hannah, it was a process of gradually letting go. I remember the last time we nursed, and I did encourage the weaning, but it took place over many months. Or, probably, over a couple of years. From the time that she took her first bite of solid food until that December night when she was 34 months old, we were on the path away from breastfeeding. It had twists and turns, and we moved forwards and backwards, and in the end it was all very anti-climactic.

Now, I have another child, and I find myself in the same place I found myself with Hannah. I don’t enjoy breastfeeding all that much anymore. I’ve watched mother cats wean kittens, and I imagine that they feel something like I do. When my child has been nursing for a while I feel a sort of a skin-crawling, get-this-kid-off-me sort of a feeling. I wonder if all mammals experience this at some point. I don’t know. I do know that it’s possible to work around it by setting limits and working with a child, and it doesn’t have to mean the end of breastfeeding. But I also know that it makes me much less accommodating when my kid asks to nurse.

Because I am feeling increasingly ready to be done, and because I think my toddler is reaching a point where he’s more ready to wean, I’m taking active steps to encourage it. What that looks like right now is to stop breastfeeding Jacob when he wakes up at night, and to stop using breastfeeding as a tool to help me get through my day. I’m night-weaning, and I’m dropping the feedings that are more about me having a quiet toddler than about meeting Jacob’s need for comfort.

This is how I find myself, at 1:00am, trotting down the hall for drinks of water, and rubbing Jacob’s back to get him back to sleep. It’s how I find myself getting up and moving around when my kid sees me sitting and starts walking towards me. It’s how I end up spending much more time engaging in rough-and-tumble play with my toddler instead of doing the easy thing and nursing him while I surf the web or read. I’m not taking the easy out of breastfeeding, and it’s honestly more than a little inconvenient.

I remember being at this point with Hannah, and I am re-discovering now what I learned then: weaning can be a total pain. Breastfeeding is a really quick and easy way to calm a child. It’s like a parenting quick-fix when things aren’t going well. While I’m ready to finish it, I kind of miss the convenience of it, now that I can’t just roll over and nurse my kid if he wakes up at night.

I’ve given Jacob an excellent start. Breastfeeding has helped us to form close bonds, offered him the very best nutrition, and given me an easy way to meet his needs. I don’t feel that I’m short-changing him by gradually moving to end it, and I’m willing to take my time and follow his cues. Having weaned one child, I know that our relationship will continue going strong when breastfeeding is over. But I will admit that sometimes, just sometimes, especially in the middle of the night, I wonder why I thought weaning was such a good idea after all.

Was there anything that you missed about breastfeeding after you weaned? How did parenting become harder or easier without that tool in your toolbox? I’d love to hear your thoughts!