'I always thought mothers who breastfed toddlers were weird. And then I became one.'

Like many aspects of motherhood, breastfeeding was something I had plenty of preconceived ideas about. I thought I knew what was ‘right’, only to completely backflip when I was in the thick of it.

For example, I always thought it was totally weird when I would see a mother breastfeeding a toddler. It gave me the ick. If they can walk and talk, they shouldn’t be breastfeeding. If you’re still offering that kind of contact you must be crazy, you must be a hippie, you must be dealing with some deep-seated ‘mummy’ issues of your own.

And then…I became one of those ‘weird’ mums.

My foray into the world of breastfeeding was a little bumpy, you could say. My daughter was born during the last surge of COVID-19 cases which resulted in major understaffing issues on the birth unit. In the early hours of the morning after I had given birth I was left alone while the midwives were called to assist with a number of other high-risk births. I had to figure out breastfeeding on my own and I had no f**king clue what I was doing.

Watch: Sometimes the simplest things in life are the hardest to explain, like nipples. Post continues after video.

Without proper guidance on how to latch my baby correctly, I suffered from severe nipple damage. Every time I breastfed my baby (which was a LOT in those early days) I would writhe around in excruciating pain. Like a million hot knives stabbing my nipples, I pushed through a type of pain I have never felt before. I also had some issues with my supply coming in, unbeknownst to me my baby was hungry as hell and I didn’t know why she was screaming.

Eventually my milk came in and I discovered nipple shields (praise be) and nipple cream (even bigger praise be!) and lactation consultants. All of them helped me to get on the right path in being able to breastfeed my baby. But then came the multiple bouts of mastitis and a genuine fear of breastfeeding in public. I felt housebound and like every waking hour of the day was just ticking along until I had to feed again. I didn’t like this job, but I felt pressure to get it right. 

I gave myself an arbitrary timeline - if I could make it to three months of breastfeeding I would feel like I’ve achieved something. Then the 12 week mark rolled around and I felt like I was starting to get the hang of it. I was exhausted and it was a huge job but dare I say it, I was starting to love it? I then pushed out the timeline to six months. Make it to six months and then I can stop. Well, of course six months approached, and I was madly, deeply in love with my baby and this beautiful connection we had through breastfeeding.

My heart swelled every time she would latch and I would study every perfect detail on her head. This was euphoria and I never wanted to lose this feeling. Ok, maybe I’ll push it out to 12 months and then I’ll stop breastfeeding, I thought.

One week after my daughter’s first birthday I was going away for two nights and so my partner and I discussed this might be a good opportunity to wean. I felt sick in my stomach but knew I might not get another time to do this. So I went cold turkey.

During our ‘last feed’ I wept. I sobbed and tears ran down my face and fell onto my baby who was actually not a baby anymore, she was a toddler. Was this the end of our journey? A journey filled with blood, sweat and tears that turned into one of my life’s greatest achievements. I was mourning the passing of time that seemed to be slipping quicker than I was prepared for. My little girl was growing up and I had to move on.

I went cold turkey because I didn’t think I had much milk left. Boy, was I wrong. By the end of the second day my breasts were engorged and lumpy. I was in excruciating pain all over again. I hadn’t brought a pump and so I had no way to release the buildup. I raced home to my daughter and latched her on for a feed. Our journey wasn’t over, my weaning failure actually turned into something special. A slightly prolonged breastfeeding story. Not the perfect story, but it was our story.

My daughter is now 15 months old, and well and truly making her mark in this world. She’s walking, talking and wreaking the best kind of havoc in our lives. And she’s still breastfeeding. An idea that I balked at before I became a mother. We are down to just one feed a day, at night when we wind down and nestle into our little bubble. A moment where it’s just me and her and the world can’t touch us. I’ve learned to get rid of timelines because we all know how well they’ve turned out for me before. We’re just going with the flow and we’ll finish up our breastfeeding journey when it feels right.

To all the breastfeeding mums I silently judged before - I’m sorry. You’re not weird, you’re not crazy, you’re not doing the wrong thing. I get it now. You’re loving with your whole chest and heart and keeping this special connection close until it's time to move on to the next stage.

Breastfeeding is the single hardest and most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. It’s pure magic and I’m going to hold on for just a little bit longer.