I don’t study.  I never have.  Except that one year in Coach Downing’s History class, but that was an anomaly.  And now, in real life I still don’t.  I’d rather wing it.  Even in homeschooling and raising kids.  You know, the stuff that’s a little more important than AP English and Algebra.  Studying just bores me.  I would rather fail and do something differently the next time (even if it brings piles of parent-guilt).  I measure once and cut twice.

So, eight and half years ago when I found out I was pregnant I kinda looked at some parenting books, but eh.  I’d rather figure it out as I go along and hope there aren’t too many bolts left over when it’s all said and done.

I didn’t start out knowing I wanted to nurse my babies, wear my babies, not leave my babies, shun birth control for natural family planning and homeschool.  I started out normal.  Well, kinda, you know, relatively.  I had no idea any of these things were methods, causes, or even had names.  I told you I didn’t study.

Since all of these things have their own hot buttons I’ll hit each one and my reasons for it separately.  Let’s start with breast-feeding (and never pumping or supplementing – I told you I was a freako).

I knew I wanted to try breast-feeding but wasn’t sold on it.  My mom said I should try, so I figured I would, but with no real conviction.  I knew I wanted to stay home (you know, after being fired at 5 months pregnant and not getting the 10 jobs I subsequently applied for will help that decision along too.)  After that it was all up in the air.

And then he was born.  And they took him away for hours before I ever got to nurse him.  Once they brought him to me I let them know they were nuts if they thought they were taking him back out of that hospital room.  And that was it.  I was attached.  He took to nursing immediately.  Which is a good thing, because I’m not sure I would have fought for it like I did with a couple of the others.  We got home and I tried pumping just like the lactation consultant said I should.  But I hated it.  Matt and I tried leaving him briefly with our parents for a date night and grocery shopping just like everyone said we should.  But we were miserable without him.  Our misery made for a long date night and not in a good way.  Hating pumping like I did, I would nurse him just before walking out the door, leave some formula in a bottle just in case, and timed our departure to coincide with his next feeding.  But something always happened, and inevitably we’d walk back in the door to a baby with a bottle in his mouth.  And a mommy that had missed a feeding.  I was full, hormonal, and crushed.  At this point we still didn’t know there was a movement or anything that actually had support for it so we spent alot of time feeling conflicted.  Society told us to take a break from our baby but we just wanted him with us.  Hence a lot of apologies and guilt when we said we’d rather keep him with us and turn down events that didn’t allow babies.  Afterall, I had a baby to feed and I was the only source.  “We’ll eventually wean him”, we sheepishly told others.  “Someday we’ll hand him over to other people.”  And we believed it.

But then we decided to have another baby.  Immediately.  And so now I was nursing one baby and pregnant with a second.  And I somehow don’t doubt I’d have been one of those tandem feeding freaks if I hadn’t had a doctor that falsely (and meanly) told me that my in utero baby’s spina bifida scare was my fault for nursing my first baby while pregnant with my second.  And so my 15 month nursing stretch came to a screeching halt in one night.  Full of guilt, fear, and overwhelming sadness I turned my sweet baby away.  For good.

Four months later MyMiddlest was born and I assumed I was a nursing pro at this point.  But we struggled to get it right.  He wouldn’t latch well.  He wouldn’t sleep anywhere but attached to me.  I had clogged ducts.  And open wounds.  I didn’t know what to do.  I was bleeding while nursing at 7 days post partum.  At 10 days out I was ready to quit – shaking formula in a bottle in the kitchen and crying.  My husband gently asked me if I’d rather find a way to continue (it was me, wasn’t it, that just a few months ago didn’t want to stop feeding the first) and didn’t all the pain go away rather quickly, and how he’d help me find help if I wanted.  We called our lactation consultant, my sister surprisingly bought me a dual hospital-grade pump, and my consultant drove over an hour to our house with hydra gels and the pump and talked me through everything.  She was my saving grace.  It’s because of her that I think of being a lactation consultant when I grow up someday.  And we made it through.

Again, 13 months later I caved under public scrutiny and weaned him.  But slower and on my own terms this time.  I nursed ThePrincess when she was born with much less trouble (except that time I got mastitis, ugh) until she was 12 months old (this time stopping because my sciatica was unbearable and I needed to take some heavy duty pain killers that I didn’t want her getting).  Then came BigMan.  By this time I was a pro and quite comfortable with my decisions.  I never pumped.  I never left them.  I nursed as long as I wanted and with that boy it was right up until he was almost 2.  By then I was ready to have another and we were already pregnant with TheFinalist.

It’s just life now.  I don’t agonize over how long I’ll nurse him.  I’ll know when the time is right for me.  I no longer apologize for what I want to do.  I do still have trouble, like when those growth spurts end and I’m left clogged and worried.  But I take it one day at a time and follow the steps I know will help me through.

So, did you nurse your babies?  Why or why not?  How long?  And is there anybody out there that doesn’t pump, like me?  Or am I truly a freako?!