- my iParenting

- quick clicks
- babies today articles
- babies today q&a
- toddlers today articles
- toddlers today q&a
- breastfeed.com articles
- breastfeed.com q&a
- message boards
- research baby names
- prepare a birth plan
- content channels
- ip channel rss feeds
- read birth stories
- read parenting stories
- recommended books
- e-newsletters
- safety recalls
- ip diaries
- ip store
- mom of the month
- dad of the month
- editor's letter
- letters to the editor
- e-newsletters
- Sign up to receive our free weekly e-newsletters
- award-winning products
The iParenting Media Awards program helps parents find the best products for their families.

The Stages of Breastfeeding
By Shel Franco
Newborns nurse with such urgency. There is a demand in their feeding that wanes by the time the first birthday rolls around. It is insatiable and overwhelming -- the very thing that causes some new mothers to wean in the early weeks.
When my first son was a newborn, I felt trapped by breastfeeding. On one hand, I was proud that I could provide him with nourishment. On the other hand, I was disappointed that I was the only one that could provide him with that nourishment. I wanted to succeed, but I wanted to quit. I wanted to bond with him on such a primitive level, but I wanted to sleep more than two hours at a time. I struggled with these conflicting emotions throughout the newborn stage.
Before I knew it, my son could roll over and sit up. He could laugh and grab. He had changed from that helpless, needy newborn into a curious baby. He no longer nursed with urgency. At times, it seemed as though he was more interested in the outside world than with what was inside my blouse. Still, his need for attachment and nourishment won out over his curiosity, and breastfeeding remained an important -- yet more flexible -- part of his days and nights.
Babyhood stretched into toddlerhood and I entertained the weaning issue at least once a week. My son's days were filled with less and less nursing and more and more exploration. He discovered independence and tested it with vigor, only to come toddling back to me for the reassurance of the breast. In the cover of darkness, I was able to catch a glimpse of the small baby I once knew, sleepily sliding off the breast with a stream of white running down his chin.
When my son was 2 years old, I discovered I was pregnant. Moments at the breast had diminished to nap time and bedtime. In the early days of my pregnancy, I was happy to have these moments of rest. On more than one occasion, while watching my son drift off to sleep, I entertained the idea of tandem nursing. Was I committed enough? Was I selfless enough? I remembered those early days of breastfeeding: urgent, powerful and demanding. My decision was made.


