Weaner

Northern elephant seal(Mirounga angustirostris)females nurse their young for about 30 days. During this time the young quadruple their birth weight and the mothers fast, unable to leave their young to return to the sea to feed. By the end of the month, the "weaners" are robust and ready to begin their independent lives, while the females are depleted and starving. So much so that the even though they will have mated about 24 days after giving birth, the fertilized egg will not implant in the wall of the uterus for about four months... a rare phenomenon called "giving the poor bitches a break"...or technically speaking "delayed implantation". After 30 days, at risk of death, the females must leave their young, weaning them abruptly by desertion.

Any mother who has nursed a baby can feel a bit of sisterhood with the elephant seal ladies. The proud, satisfying feeling of being the fount of life...knowing that each ounce gained is an ounce transferred directly from our own resources. The deep and powerful connection experienced when we can satisfy our babies' most primal needs with the unbuttoning of a blouse. The warmth of the suckling infant connected to us once again as they were in the womb. The feeling of being trapped, and of being sucked dry as the little one drinks greedily of our time, our space, our person.

At some point the time comes for every mother-offspring dyad to end the nursing relationship. For some of us the need to do this presents itself with urgency, as if we risk death by starvation if we don't soon return to the sea. For others, it is a lengthy dialogue that requires thorough processing. Sometimes, its the baby that calls it quits, leaving these mothers vacillating between feeling wounded and relieved. Regardless of the nature of the transition, weaning marks a notable shift in the mother-child dynamic, and causes psychological and biological flux.

I'm presently weaning my 20 month old son. He is our last child. He is the last baby that will settle into the rhythmic suckling which, at its best stirred powerful feelings of euphoria, and at its worst stoked the embers of resentment. I can't desert him and head out to sea, so we are going through the transition together. I'm torn. Ready to know the freedom of not being needed quite so much and afraid of becoming irrelevant. I'm moody and irritable due to the crashing levels of prolactin, and the sore boobs that I have to hand milk in the shower. Why deal with feeling so freaked out and bovine when I know exactly how to easily remedy both symptoms? He asks me to nurse. I pause. I tell him mama's milk is going away because he is getting SO big. He asks to just "try it". I pause. I tell him no. He cries for a moment or two and then he is on to the next amusement. A couple of well-timed lollipops and he glides through the usual nursing times with very little drama. Me, I need something a little stronger. I'm mourning the end of the essential maternal connection with my children. Drying up the flow of love that can be tasted and can fill an empty little belly. Marking the end of my tenure as an actively reproductive woman. No wonder I'm a little bitchy.

Mostly I wish I could bottle the milky smell of his breath after nursing. Oh, how it gives me an almost giddy feeling of well-being that I will sorely miss.

Thanks for the 38 months of active duty, boobs. You did an amazing job.