Updated: Oct. 29, 2020
Originally Published: Dec. 17, 2016
She was wailing like a siren, and nothing I tried seemed to help. After raising four kids and step-parenting another four, I had naively thought I knew it all, but this little one was a whole different ball game. My 2-month-old granddaughter’s cries set off my 1-year-old, turning my peaceful evening into a cacophony of chaos. Just moments before, everything was fine; now, I had two little ones howling while dinner simmered away, and the TV cartoons were no help.
When my oldest daughter turned 21, I had my youngest, and just 11 months later, my granddaughter arrived. Having a child and grandchild so close in age has its perks—like not feeling guilty splurging on toys that will eventually be passed down. We share the same pediatrician and are part of the same mommy group, with matching car seats for our little ones. However, there was one major difference: none of my kids ever suffered from colic. So when my daughter reached out for advice, I was at a loss.
She tried everything from gripe water to tummy time, swaddles to white noise—all in vain. One evening, she called me in tears, admitting she felt overwhelmed and exhausted. It had been days since she had a shower, and her baby only napped for 20 minutes at a time. They both needed a break, so I offered to take the baby for the night.
She hesitated, saying, “Mom, she won’t take a bottle, and I don’t have any pumped milk.”
Fast forward a couple of months, and it was finally time for her to return to work. I volunteered to babysit, and as she dropped off my granddaughter, she loaded my arms with an overstuffed diaper bag and enough pumped milk to last through the next ice age. While she was anxious about leaving her baby, I was excited for some quality time.
Then came the chaos. Holding a crying baby on each hip, I quickly realized that my parenting expertise was useless. I grabbed the Bjorn for my granddaughter, but that only made my own daughter jealous and wailing. Just as I thought I might go mad, the smoke detector started its own alarm, drowning out the babies and probably alarming the neighbors. In the whirlwind, I caught a glimpse of my tear-streaked face in the hallway mirror and felt utterly defeated. This was not the easy-breezy grandparenting I had imagined.
With my spirits low, I made my way to the living room, singing the “ABC Song” more to calm myself than the babies. Then I spotted my husband, standing in the doorway, looking at me with a mixture of concern and disbelief. He gently took my daughter from my hip and disappeared into the bedroom.
Sinking onto the sofa, I cradled my granddaughter in my arms. She instinctively started rooting, and though my milk had been long gone, my maternal instincts kicked in. Without really thinking, I offered her my breast. She latched on, and in minutes, she was sound asleep.
When my daughter returned, I couldn’t help but share the story. We both laughed as she said, “I don’t mind if you don’t.” And honestly, I didn’t care at all. Since then, I’ve cared for my granddaughter several times, and each time, she needed a breast. To some, this might seem controversial, but I’m all about helping my family, even if it means dry-nursing.
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Summary:
In a humorous recounting, Sarah Thompson shares her unexpected journey into dry-nursing her granddaughter amidst the chaos of parenting and grandparenting. Despite initial struggles with two crying babies and a smoking kitchen, she embraces the experience of soothing her granddaughter, finding joy in unconventional methods. This candid tale highlights the challenges and laughter in family life while emphasizing unconditional love and support for her daughter.