A Bond Forgotten

Well, at least I know, now. But my heart still aches...

I have been toying with the idea of re-introducing nursing to Pumpkin. I had never wanted to wean her in the first place, but it became necessary. And it's only been 9 months since she last asked to nurse, and already she doesn't remember nursing at all.

I had read about toddlers who remembered nursing when they became adults, and there are books written from the toddler's point of view. I had always hoped that would be my children, that they would remember my very physical love for them at the beginning of their lives. But for Pumpkin, that will never be. And is Rugger stays on his previous course, he may be done even sooner than Pumpkin.

I'll never forget the way her eyes would look into mine; questioning if I had the time and desire for her. I used to enjoy our times spent so close, relaxing for both of us, soothing the sharp spots in our day. But that's why I had to stop. The question in her eyes had turned to fear: fear of my anger over her asking to nurse now!, fear of my anger over her falling asleep and pinching my already sore pregnant nipple, fear that I would take away the one thing that she had that assured her I was there...and I did.

But she was okay. In fact, she became less needy, less demanding, less of the little girl I had grown used to. Maybe she would have changed anyway. Maybe her new brother and new home had already begun to work on her. Or maybe it was because she believed me when I told her she was okay...that I would always be there for her.

But I still felt like I should have persevered. That I had tried so hard, and if I had only waited a few more weeks, maybe she wouldn't have been so bad. And so I've contemplated trying again. But she's never asked, so I didn't know if it would be wrong to offer.

Well, the lady at church on Sunday talked about nursing her kids well into toddlerhood, and she said I wouldn't be that strange, and it was what I needed to at least ask my first, my only, daughter if she ever felt she wanted to nurse again.

So I asked her, and she said, "no." So I said, "okay." There was no hesitation, no thinking it over. In fact, in her confused toddler-ness, she even went as far as to start saying, "No! I don't want to nurse!" as if I was going to force her to...

So I asked her again today, I'm not sure why (part of me still hoping maybe she will and I can regain that special way of communicating JUST to her?) There's just something about nursing. It's not sexual, but in a way, it's a similar form of communicating love to a person that you can't communicate to everyone. I nurse my own children, but not others. (not that I can't, but you know what I mean.) So she looked at me and said, "No...Rugger nurse...like a baby!"

But then, after a moment or so, she shyly says, "I want to nurse?" like she's asking to try a taco or other unknown food food for the first time. I actually got hopeful and sat down again. I took her in my arms, held her in the crook of my elbow, and offered my breast. She opened her mouth, but did nothing. I asked her if she remembered, I told her to suck like a straw or a sippy cup, but don't bite. She still did nothing. So I held her close, a lump in my throat. When she hopped down, she pointed at me and said, "That a boob!" and I knew that she had completely forgotten what was once the most important thing in the world to her.

I often wonder if there is a deep part of us that can remember these things on some level. Has Rugger already forgotten the rhythmic "whoosh-whoosh" of my womb? Does he remember the inner sound of my voice? I wanted to pull Pumpkin to me and tell her of my sacrifice, of my dedication through pain and nausea, of my desire to nurse her until she wanted otherwise. But I know it will be a long time before she begins to understand. Maybe not even until she is a nursing mother herself.

So I hope she remembers, somehow, somewhere. I don't even remember sitting upon my Mother's knee as a child, and I refused her breast after the doctor's gave me a rubber nipple. So I hope my daughter will be different. I hope that somehow the two years that I gave her life from my body, the many dreams she had at my breast, that somehow they are ingrained into her image of me; her mother.

Because though it appears that she has completely forgotten; I will remember forever.