THE WEANER'S CIRCLE

(WARNING: If the words "breast", "nipple", "suck", "suckle" and "pump" offend you or give you a funny feeling in some way, do not venture on. These words will be pouring freely in the coming paragraphs. Sickos are not welcome.)

I'm still breastfeeding. My youngest son, Troy, will be 29 months tomorrow, and I'm proud to say he's still nursing.

To the uninitiated, this may seem like no mean feat. But believe me, the world is full of guilt-ridden mothers, who feel they should have kept their now-grown babies at the breast just a little bit longer...

I know, because I was one such Mom. With my first son, Max (now 10), I didn't get much support from my ex-husband, who ran to the nearest 24-hour Walgreens for formula as soon as the new baby came home. When I was pregnant with Max, my ex-husband used to regale us with stories of his mother, and how she would dump an entire batch of formula down the drain after finding a dark speck of something floating in it. I should have known even then that I would be alone in my endeavor.

I really wanted to try breastfeeding, knowing the healthy benefits this bestowed upon my baby. I even put up a valiant effort, buying a breast pump to increase my milk supply and always offering my breast before showing my baby his bottle. I needn't have bothered. Even then, Max was already smart enough to choose the path of least resistance. With Similac with Iron so readily available, why bother with the much more difficult task of extracting milk from Mommy? This, of course, led to painful engorgement on MY side (well actually it was my FRONT). And if this weren't enough, I was also saddled with a nervous first-time Dad hovering over me, shooting me reproving looks everytime I even dared to bare the offensive things in front of THE BABY.

Actually, I didn't always suck at breastfeeding, if you'll pardon the pun. During our two-day stay at the hospital, Max and I were able to forge a tenuous nursing relationship. With the aid of a lactation consultant, Max was well on his way. He was already learning to latch on, and I was getting more comfortable with the cradle and football holds. I remember how it felt to feed my baby for the first time, knowing he was taking nourishment from my own body. It is the most gratifying feeling any woman can ever have. The two of us bonded in the quiet confines of our hospital room, the bud of early motherhood fluorishing in a vacuum.

Unfortunately, my nursing accomplishment at the hospital was not so easily duplicated at home. Max continued to breastfeed sporadically for the next two weeks, but it was apparent the spell had been broken. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, my resolve to continue nursing was worn down by the domestic distractions of everyday life. I knew my milk was getting scantier by the day, but there was always that elusive tomorrow, when I would finally have the time to pump enough milk to keep up my supply. Apart from exhaustion, I believe denial is the main reason why many mothers never succeed at breastfeeding beyond the first few weeks.

I can never forget that day when I realized I was bone dry. There I was, looking at my baby's beautiful face, his eyes half-closed in slumber. I was about to offer him his bottle when he turned his face toward my breast, instinctively reaching with his mouth. It was then that the bitter realization hit home: I literally had nothing in me to offer. My milk had run dry. For all intents and purposes, the process was irreversible. Oh, the finality of it all. Resignedly, I gave Max his formula, which he gulped down greedily. I wept that day and many nights after that. I felt that I had failed as a mother.

With this memory still haunting me, I was adamant that my next baby would be raised at the breast. Lance was born six years after Max, and his Dad, my husband, Lorenzo, was thankfully supportive of my nursing efforts. This was very important because Lance was born prematurely, six weeks before his due date. But despite his early arrival, Lance was deemed healthy enough to go home with us. Lorenzo stayed up those first nights, keeping us comfortable during our frequent feeding sessions.

It was soon apparent that our baby was not thriving on breast milk. Because of his early arrival, Lance's sucking reflex was not fully developed yet. He wasn't taking in enough milk to boost my supply. To complicate matters, he was starting to turn yellow. Lance's bilirubin level was getting dangerously high, and he was starting to develop jaundice. The only way Lance could get rid of the bilirubin was to do it the good old-fashioned way: poop it out. This meant he had to take in a lot more milk than he was getting from me. There were no two ways about it. He needed supplementation.

We took him to his pediatrician, who issued a direct order: stop breastfeeding for two weeks. I protested vociferously, saying my milk would surely run out if I did that. He countered by saying it was MY breast milk that was actually causing the jaundice. That did it. Defeated, we went home with our baby, after I cast one last baleful look at his doctor. That evening, Lance got his first taste of formula. Even then I knew there would be no turning back.

Throughout my defeat the second time around, I found a sympathetic ally in my husband. Whenever Lance would come down with diarrhea or an ear infection, Lorenzo would join me in burning effigies of Dr. Javid. To this day we still blame him for depriving our baby of his most important source of immunity, his mother's milk.

Enter Troy, my beautiful baby, who is lovingly called Tisoy by my in-laws, due to his fair skin and brown curls. Troy, like his kuya, also came early. He arrived at 36 weeks, four weeks ahead of his due date. In fact, he was in such a rush to see the world, his first sight of it was the storage closet in Kaiser. Troy came so fast they didn't have time to prepare a birthing room for me, but I didn't mind. I was just happy I didn't give birth in my van!

Troy settled into nursing quite well. Like Lance, he was healthy enough to come home with us, despite being a preemie. I was also getting better at breastfeeding, feeling comfortable enough to do it even while lying down. We were adjusting to our new routine, and we had a perfect angel of a baby. Troy would always elicit smiles from people who would see him in his carrier. He looked like a perfectly proportioned doll: he had just the right amount of hair, not bald, not a mop head; and he had the cutest little button nose. People always stopped to tell us how beautiful our baby was. One lady summed it all up when she said, "Aren’t newborns just a taste of heaven?"

Unfortunately, Troy also developed jaundice. In fact, his case was worse than Lance's. He actually had to go back to the hospital for a couple of days. I can still picture him lying under the bili-lights in his incubator, wearing nothing but a diaper. I stayed with my baby those two days, and Lorenzo stayed home with Lance, the two of them visiting us everyday bringing my favorite sourdough burger from Jack in the Box.

This time around, I was blessed with a more sympathetic pediatrician. Dr. Elaine Chen explained to us that yes, for some mysterious reason, breastfeeding does contribute to jaundice, but that did not mean I had to stop it. In fact, Dr. Chen told me to continue nursing and pumping milk to increase my supply, and she was adamant that Troy did not need formula. I tried feeding Troy formula once or twice, when I had run out of stored milk, but I noticed a change in his stool whenever I did, so I stopped. I just resolved to feed him more often. In fact, in his first three months it seemed that all I did the whole day was nurse, but it was not as exhausting as I thought because I was "forced" to take a break from housework during these feeding sessions.

It also helped that I had an industrial-grade breast pump with Troy that would've made any dairy farmer proud. This pump cost thousands of dollars, but was affordably rented out at about $70 per month. After Troy had taken his fill, I would empty both breasts and store my milk in the fridge. I also operated on a schedule, pumping every 2-3 hours, and this got my supply going well. I eventually returned the pump when Troy was 4 months old. I was elated to discover I didn't need it anymore!

So there I was, finally tasting success the third time around. Every nursing session was a celebration. I felt like a lawyer who finally passed the Bar on his third attempt. This time around, I was the envy of other mothers who didn't succeed in breastfeeding. "How'd you do it?" they would say, and I would smile, remembering the times when I was the one asking those questions.

Troy was an avid nurser. He would summon me with his cries when he was hungry, and I had to drop everything I was doing. Many times, when we were driving, Lorenzo would have to stop the van so I could move to the back seat to feed. If I didn't get there fast enough, I would be reprimanded by a look of reproach in my baby's eyes as he nursed hungrily, the unspoken accusation fading as his hunger was sated. And then he would be content to fiddle with my blouse as he suckled, a constant source of amusement to his Dad. Lorenzo says it's genetic, because he used to do the same thing when he was little. This hasn't changed much over the years, except now Lorenzo prefers feather pillows over clothing. At any given day, you may be able to catch Lorenzo and Troy clutching the same pillow, father and son feeling for feathers under the material while watching TV. They have a term for this habit back home in the Philippines. We used to call it "pang-uutong".

I resolved to breastfeed until Troy was two. This turned out to be a good decision, because Troy started showing signs of a milk allergy early on. He also developed atopic dermatitis, his sensitive skin flaring up after I would eat nuts and other allergens. Whenever I felt guilty for passing these on through my milk, Dr. Chen would reassure me that the allergies would've surfaced anyway. In fact, she said, it would've been much worse if I wasn't breastfeeding.

So I continued to nurse as Troy got bigger. I was always discreet about it. I never breastfed in public, remembering how militant La Leche Leaguers used to bother me when they would expose themselves in full view of everyone. If we weren't home, I would excuse myself and feed Troy in someone's empty bedroom. If we were out driving in the van, I would go to the back seat (thankfully, my windows are tinted). You can always breastfeed without offending other people's sensibilities.

Troy has benefited greatly from the experience. He has grown to be very healthy; in fact, you can count the times he was sick in one hand. Whenever he would have a fever or diarrhea, it would be because another tooth was on its way, not because of some virus in his system. As an added bonus, our frequent nursing sessions also strengthened our physical bond, and he is much more tolerant of hugs, snuggles and showers of kisses than his kuya. It still warms my heart to see him coming to me with his hands up, asking for a cuddle.

Troy continued to breastfeed three times a day until the end of November. He would feed upon waking up, before taking his afternoon nap, and at bedtime. His lolas, my Mom and mother-in-law, were pleasantly surprised that I could sustain my nursing for so long. I was proud of my accomplishment.

However, the month of October heralded change. On October 22, I found out I was pregnant again. The news was a welcome surprise to Lorenzo and me. Since I was on the pill and still breastfeeding Troy, the last thing we expected was my getting pregnant! With all the odds against it happening, we could only see it as a gift from The Lord.

With the new baby's upcoming arrival, I began to do my research. I started to read up on subjects such as breastfeeding while pregnant and tandem feeding after birth. With this pregnancy labeled "high risk" for premature labor (after my two preemies), I was concerned when I read one woman's account, blaming her continued nursing for her subsequent miscarriage. Apparently, breastfeeding promotes the production of oxytocin, which brings about contractions. I read these words with a heavy heart. I couldn't take any chances. For the sake of the coming baby, I had to wean Troy.

I then launched my "don't offer, don't refuse" campaign, deciding that I would let Troy wean himself. I didn't have the heart to quit cold turkey. Besides, I felt reassured when I found out most toddlers wean themselves when their mothers get pregnant, as the taste of breast milk usually changes during this time. Indeed, Troy had been showing signs of losing interest, especially in the mornings, when he preferred to watch his shows.

Then Lance got out of school after Thanksgiving. With the abrupt change in schedule, it has been much harder to stick to our daily routine. Lance, for one, refuses to take his afternoon nap. Since Troy usually follows his brother, this effectively eliminated most of his afternoon naptime (and nursing) sessions. And since they have been missing their naps, my boys now fall asleep very early, sometimes in the family room before we can even get them ready for bed. Alas, this means less opportunities for bedtime nursing sessions as well.

Troy, thankfully, has still been feeding at least once a day. Sometimes, he asks for milk when we snuggle in bed in the morning. More often however, he says "milk, Mommy" when I am trying to put him to sleep at night. I have come to love these little requests, usually followed by the serious task of choosing which side he would like to try first. Recently he has taken to pointing to my right breast, since my left one is usually the more cantankerous of the two.

I don't know how much longer I can prolong this wonderful experience. I now look at each nursing session as if it were my last. I will forever miss the nearness of my baby, feeling his warm softness beside me, smelling his hair. I will always remember how it feels to nurse...my baby's mouth and tongue tugging at my breast in tandem. His rhythmic breathing soothes me, his hands and feet kneading my body like a kitten purring contentedly at its mother's teat. Then comes the slow, gradual release of his hold as he drifts into sleep. After the Sandman claims my Troy, I slip my breast back under my shirt and hold him close, showering his precious little face with kisses. Then slumber claims me too, and I fall asleep with him in my arms, tightly snuggled with his head on my shoulder. I usually don't sleep too deeply. At the back of my mind, I know I have to bring him back to his room and put him in his crib before he wakes up again.

Alas, last weekend ushered in another milestone...Troy slept out of his crib for the first time. We had moved his bed to Lance's room in order to make way for the new baby. He initially met this move with resistance, refusing to sleep in his new bed at first. But now he is beginning to adjust to his new room and his new surroundings. I added a few enticements: a Bob the Builder bed set and a Harry Potter calendar. Troy loves Harry Potter. Just recently, he was watching "The Sorcerer's Stone" when his older brother, Chris, started bugging him. We were surprised to hear a mad little voice ring out, clear as a bell: "I'M WATCHING HARRY POTTER!!!"

Troy, my little baby, is indeed on his way.