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This essay was originally printed in Loving Mama: Essays on Natural Parenting and Mothering, Edited by Tiffany Palisi (Hats Off Books)

A Weaning Story: Notes From a Work In Progress
Bonnie Adams

As I nursed my firstborn of six months, I contemplated how much he had grown and how quickly the time had already passed. I tearfully mourned the loss of his early infancy. The big milestone on my mind was weaning. According to the books, the in-laws, and the neighbors, it was time. Conventional wisdom held that any mother who nursed past six months was some kind of sicko who was meeting her own, vaguely sexual, needs by forcing this poor innocent to breastfeed. It was time to get a bottle and a babysitter and let go. I cradled him and thought about weaning. I was full of guilt and completely unprepared for the depth of my pain at the mere thought of ending our nursing relationship. Charlie had taken to breastfeeding easily and completely. From the very beginning he was in love with the breast, the milk, and the sucking. There was nothing this child didn't adore about nursing. His cries were readily answered; his total bliss evident to all. How could I even consider taking this from him when it was so important, such a vital part of his rather limited world?

As you may have guessed, I couldn't do it. Not only that, I couldn't even try. With hormones coursing through my veins, I tearfully promised this precious child that I would never be the agent of his weaning. That step would belong to him. The very thought of depriving him of breastfeeding struck at the core of my new-mommy emotions. Sobbing aloud, I pledged to him that I would allow him his own course. My milk would always be available for him.

By the time Charlie was two, still obviously delighting in prolonged and frequent breastfeeding, I was pregnant again. I was so nauseous and tired that I attempted to wean him at night. The attempt resulted in misery for both of us. I got less sleep than I ever had and Charlie began to have temper tantrums during the day. After a few days of this unhappiness, I gathered my bewildered little boy into my arms. Rocking him and weeping (oh, those hormones!), I recommitted to allowing him to wean in his own time, trusting that he would let me know when he was ready to let go.

My second son, Jack, was born at 31 weeks·gestation and spent his first weeks in the Neonatal ICU. For some of that time, he was unable to nurse at all. I pumped my breasts until the hospital freezer was full. The staff wanted to "wean" him to formula in order to control his jaundice. I refused. Sitting by his incubator, both of us entangled in tubes and wires, I caressed him and promised this impossibly small bundle the same things I had promised his brother. "Breast is best," and he would have the best, anywhere, anytime, for as long as he needed it. The milk was here for him. He and only he would decide when to give it up.

This has not always been an easy promise to keep. There are many economic, cultural, and private forces conspiring in ways both overt and covert to separate mothers from their babies. I have received enough criticism to force me to look carefully at my decision to follow child-led weaning. I owe it to Charlie and Jack to do what is best for them regardless of how uncomfortable it may or may not make me or those around me. So, no apologies to the woman in the park who gave me such a disapproving look, or to the relatives who mutter under their breath. No expert in the world knows more than I do about this child, on this day, at this park. You move from, "Watch the baby, not the clock," to, "Listen to the child, not the neighbors." It's all the same wisdom. When it comes to raising children, our culture has much to say, our relatives have much to say, our hearts have much to say, and our children have much to say. We have to decide who we're going to listen to.

As for me, I'll listen to my heart and my son. The word "weaning" entered his vocabulary when he was about four. When I explained what the term meant, he burst into tears. The idea of there being an end to nursing had never occurred to him. Mommy, I would be so sad if I couldn't nurse!·He refused to believe that his feelings might someday change. I told him of my promise.

"In our family the children decide when they are ready to wean. Then I'll nurse until I'm a grown-up," he declared. Clearly, this child was not ready.

My son Jack was a very different kind of nurser. He could not take solids and was breastfed exclusively for 14 months. Even so, he never really seemed to care for nursing. It was his only food, yet Jack could take it or leave it. This was strange for me, because my other son was still nursing avidly. The joke at our house became that Jack was going to wean before Charlie. Okay, I thought, as long as it is Jack's decision. His neutral attitude towards nursing provided me with an interesting defense to those who thought that his brother Charlie was nursing on my demand, for my needs, or that I had somehow made him into a child that needed to nurse for such a long time. Since Jack was so different, it would seem that Charlie's nursing style was more about Charlie and his needs, not the way he was being parented. I felt vindicated.

A wise mother once advised me that, like the pears in the produce department, developing children are "ripe when they yield to gentle pressure." Time and again I have found this to be true. A little push in the general direction of, say, potty training, has always provided me with irrefutable evidence of whether or not my child was "ripe." Respecting their readiness has led to several stops and starts as my "gentle pressure" sometimes proved to be ill-timed. When I was off base, my boys have always let me know. When the timing was right, it all fell into place almost effortlessly. Thus they have started solids, rolled over, crawled, walked, started preschool, and even night-weaned each according to his own internal pace.

Jack recently turned three. He nurses about twice a day. When he is hurt, he would rather cuddle. When he is thirsty he prefers orange juice. He still needs to nurse in order to relax enough to fall asleep. There's no telling how long this will go on, but I don't foresee him weaning in the near future. Charlie is five and a half now. He nurses just once daily, as part of his bedtime routine. His need seems to have changed again. His nursing seems more of a wonderful habit. I used to think that I had given birth to the first child in human history who would not wean. Now, however, I can see his weaning on the horizon. Maybe a few months from now, maybe a year, but he is surely "winding down.·My boys and I have moved together from demand feedings, toddlers tugging at my shirt, and public tandem "events" into a much more sedate, private, and low-key personal ritual. Both of my children sleep through the night (well, maybe not every night!), neither of them nurses in public anymore (really, it just doesn't come up!), and I can't remember the last time I nursed two simultaneously. In the past six months, Charlie has actually skipped a few days. (Eight times. I keep track.) Even Jack has done that once. Clearly we have moved into a new phase of our nursing relationships.

When my babies were new, the thought of them weaning nearly broke my heart. As they grew, I must confess that there were days when I dreaded their requests to nurse and wished they would just wean already. Even at those times, however, I could not actually picture mothering without nursing. If you cannot offer a breast, what do you actually do when they're hurt, tired, hungry, frightened, or about to have a tantrum? I often felt that I'd have no idea how to be a parent if I couldn't nurse. As time has gone on and my children's need to nurse has changed and diminished, we have, of course, developed other ways to address their daily needs.

As my oldest heads to kindergarten and my youngest faces potty training, it is time for me to accept that their needs will change again. We are heading out of this intensive hands-on·toddler stage of mothering. I am so excited to see what the future holds for us. One aspect of it will no doubt include a couple of weanings in the coming months or years. I cannot promise that I won't shed a tear, but I am confident that it will not be the hormonal outpouring of several years ago. Weaning now looks to me as if it will be as natural and easy as some of the other milestones have turned out to be.

We are more ready now than we have ever been. Some time, probably soon, my child will signal that he is readier still and the time will have come. I plan to take his hand and, perhaps wistfully, follow his sure and steady lead into the next stage.

Bonnie Adams lives in New Jersey with her husband Jim and longtime nurslings Charlie and Jack.