By: Jenna Collins
On the very first day of lockdown, my toddler nursed non-stop. He was 22 months old, and I thought to myself, oh no.
I had intended to breastfeed for a year—18 months at most. My timeline was influenced partly by the launch of a book I co-authored that was set to release in mid-2020, which would require me to travel without my son for days at a time. Additionally, breastfeeding is demanding, and I craved a clear endpoint.
However, by the time he turned one, it was evident that my little one was far from ready to wean, and surprisingly, neither was I. By then, he was eating solid foods, so “mama milk” wasn’t an all-day affair. Yet, my view on breastfeeding evolved through the daily experience. At a year, I began to see it less as an obligation that hindered my pursuits and more as a shared journey—a powerful and even political act. I was producing sustenance with my body! Each nursing session felt like a bold choice that defied societal expectations.
Yet, by 22 months, I found myself longing for a break. I gazed longingly at my neglected marijuana edibles and dreamed of uninterrupted sleep instead of waking at 6 am for milk.
A couple of months before the quarantine began, I had cautiously started the weaning process. One morning, he even forgot to ask for milk, stirring a whirlwind of emotions in me. I called a friend who’s a doula to share, “I think he might be weaning himself!” to which she responded, “Congratudolences!”
Then, the pandemic struck. Our routine—two days a week at daycare and three days with my parents—was destroyed. Suddenly, he was home full-time, and all he wanted was to nurse, nurse, nurse.
The first week was surreal.
“Want to play with blocks?”
“No! I wanna nurse!”
“How about a bath?”
“Bath is silly! Nursing, nursing!”
“Maybe we could look out the window?”
“I don’t like windows! Nuuuurrrrssse!!!”
In the months that followed, he fell back into old habits—nursing for comfort and solace. Our constant togetherness played a role, as did the lack of other engaging activities, especially in those early weeks when even going for a walk felt risky, and he was too young to keep a mask on without trying to eat it.
I struggled with my emotions. I recognized the benefits of breastfeeding a toddler and felt fortunate to have that option—many parents don’t. I had read that children often wean themselves between the ages of two and four. I knew numerous strong individuals who breastfed their kids for years. But how could I manage my long-awaited book tour, which I had dreamed about since before pregnancy? How could I accomplish anything while working from home with a child clinging to me? And those edibles! When would I finally enjoy them again?
Gradually, my reasons for weaning began to fade. The book tour shifted to a virtual format. I discovered how to isolate myself during work hours to avoid making my child think about “mama milk.” Over time, I learned to say, “You can’t nurse now, but you can later!” with such cheerful enthusiasm that he would wait a couple of hours. The edibles didn’t seem like a strong enough reason to stop nursing, especially since breastfeeding releases its own delightful chemicals. Did I really want to trade the bliss of oxytocin for THC?
I also realized that breastfeeding was invaluable during our days at home. It served as a tool for calming, preparing for naps, and most significantly, providing me a moment to check my phone while he nursed. Nursing became not just a burden or comfort; it was a practical strategy to navigate the pandemic.
As I accepted that we might be nursing longer than initially planned, my worries about weaning faded. With no book tour or work conflicts on the horizon, there was no urgency to stop as long as we both chose to continue. On my non-working days, I began to look forward to his nursing requests; it became a cherished moment of stillness amid the chaos. Nursing forced me to relax—after all, it’s hard to get up while nursing!
Breastfeeding has, in many ways, taught me the art of patience. It’s not that nursing is idle; it’s strenuous work! Your body transforms into a nutrient factory, tiring you out even as you sit still. But this work often involves waiting.
This principle applies to parenting as a whole. Some of the most crucial tasks—ensuring a toddler doesn’t choke on food or monitoring them at the beach—might seem trivial to an outsider yet are vital responsibilities.
During the pandemic, patience has become even more crucial for everyone. While the anxious wait for COVID statistics to improve or for vaccines can’t be compared to the low-stakes wait for a nursing session to end, the skill translates. I’ve always struggled with taking deep breaths and embracing stillness. My toddler’s ongoing nursing has provided daily lessons in patience.
Now, more than a year since I set my weaning intentions aside, my child’s third birthday is approaching. Will I decide to stop? Set a specific date? Will he naturally lose interest when he starts preschool, and waiting becomes less central to our lives? No idea. But for now, I will embrace the uncertainty, breathe deeply, and see where our journey leads us.
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In summary, my experience navigating the challenges of breastfeeding during the pandemic has taught me valuable lessons in patience and adaptability. As I reflect on my journey, I am learning to embrace the uncertainties and joys of parenting, allowing our bond to guide the way forward.