Please note: this is an old post. I have been blogging for a really long time: since my childhood, in fact. Bear in mind that any opinions stated may have changed, any code snippets may no longer be considered safe or secure, and my personal circumstances are almost certainly different to what's contained herein. You have been warned...
I took the decision a few weeks ago to start refusing Oliver feeds overnight. The idea I had was that if he cried when I said no, I would feed him anyway, but that if he lay back down and went to sleep: win win.
It goes against every part of me that supports baby-led weaning – from the introduction of solids down to the ultimate ending of breastfeeding – but it got to the point where I was finding Oliver’s latch so bad that I was having to bite my lip and dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands just so that I didn’t just throw him off me. He has always had a much worse latch at night, but it’s been particularly awful since the first set of molars came in. I held on for improvements and they’ve not been forthcoming!
Fortunately most feeds were quickly replaced with a sip of water (and don’t let anyone ever tell you that you can night wean or sleep train using water … now he wakes for that instead) with minimal/no crying.
I’m trying to console myself with regular reminders of the fact that a) Oliver gets to feed in the day when Isabel didn’t at this age, b) if he was that desperate he would have made more fuss about feeding. Truth is, I feel just as guilty as I did when Izz weaned just before her second birthday if not more so… he is only 15.5 months after all.
My goal was to reach 2 years with Oliver, the milestone we missed virtually by days last time ’round, but the reality is that if he weaned tomorrow I don’t know if I would grieve the loss of the breastfeeding relationship this time. Guilt but no grief? I hate that.