Before Stella was born, we registered for a Boppy nursing pillow. It seemed like a must-have item and I certainly saw the value in having one, as I hoped and planned to breastfeed her. I didn’t realize until shortly after she was born that I would become so attached to this object, out of love and appreciation, but also necessity.
We even ended up buying a second one to keep in our family room, because I found myself trying to carry the Boppy pillow along with holding Stella, up and down the stairs, depending on where we were settling in for a feeding. The Boppy pillows were a mainstay in the nursery and family room until Stella weaned herself completely, around 15 months old.
At that point, we tucked the Boppy pillows away in a closet upstairs. After months of time together, they were no longer necessary for me to survive. That is, until Margot was born. That time, I wised up and brought a Boppy with me to the hospital. My arms thanked me.
The Boppy pillows were once again a constant presence in our family room and our bedroom, before it moved on to Margot’s nursery. Because Margot never really took a bottle, I was even more tethered to her and subsequently the Boppy pillow. I only wish I could have worn it around myself like an inner tube.
But in the last month, we have put the Boppy in the family room away. The one that sits on the ottoman of the glider chair in the nursery is mostly in the way now. At 16 months old, Margot barely cares about nursing anymore. After struggling with bottles, Margot took to sippy cups and cow’s milk like a pro. Suddenly, the lack of independence I felt in her first year of life completely shifted to her not really caring about or needing me (in that way) much at all. It feels strange.
I feel proud and amazed that I was able to nurse my girls for this long, about 30 months of my life between the two of them. Recently, I was curious if someone has ever tracked or quantified the amount of time a mother spends nursing her baby.
One mother did, and according to her calculations, she spent 35,000 minutes (or over 580 hours) providing breast milk to her son, between nursing and pumping, in one year.
Multiplying that by my two girls, and adding months on top of their first year, it seems by those calculations that I easily spent over 1,000 hours of my life breastfeeding. Wow.
While overwhelming and difficult at so many times, breastfeeding was something I wanted to do and feel fortunate I could do. In the first few days and weeks with Stella, I couldn’t imagine the light at the end of the tunnel. It was painful (at first) and exhausting, and many times, it felt as isolating as it was rewarding. I made milestone goals at three and six months, and by then, nursing became easier and less demanding. Before I knew it, a year had gone by in a flash.
With Margot, I knew what to expect from those early weeks in the trenches, and the transition back to a human milk truck was less jarring and emotional. Still, what I learned from the first time around didn’t prepare me for a baby who wouldn’t take to a bottle. With Stella, it had been deceivingly easy.
I learned pretty quickly that I needed to be flexible, and also way less modest about nursing. I distinctly remember going to special events and nursing Stella in a chair in the ladies room. Worst yet, I remember nursing her while standing inside a STALL one time during a birthday event. I look back at that early mom version of myself and think why, why, why?
The second time around, I had Stella to motivate me to get us out of the house and do activities instead of holing up inside the house. I became much more comfortable nursing in public in any scenario (thanks in large part to my Milk Snob nursing cover, which didn’t exist with Stella), from Margot’s baptism to a trip to Meijer Gardens:
And even though there were some tough times and it felt like I’d be in this phase of life forever, here we are. Margot is 16 months. I’ve been able to wear normal bras and shirts and dresses that don’t require a stretchy neckline or buttons for the last several months. I’m researching if non-profits in the area will take used Boppy pillows.
Those Boppy pillows. What is it about getting rid of the pillows that gives me a sense of sadness? I think it is because the pillows are a physical representation of a big part of my life for the last several years. They have always been around, but now they’ve served their purpose.
I’m saying goodbye to this phase of motherhood, this emotional and exhausting and amazing period of time that felt so long when I was in the thick of it, but is actually such a relatively brief time in their lives. There are things I definitely won’t miss about it. After growing two babies inside my body and then being their sole sustenance for many months of their early lives, my body is back to being my own. It took a couple of years after Stella was born to feel back to myself, so it might not be until next year that I will feel that way once again.
I will say that I will miss the connection, and the feeling of empowerment, and the way this particular part of motherhood especially taught me to look beyond my needs and myself for the sake of my daughters.
And I will miss views like this:
A baby girl in my lap, fingers intertwined, nursing to sleep. Relaxed. Content. Safe.
Bye bye, Boppy. Bye bye, Babyland. We’re on the fast train to Toddlertown.