  This is the biggest thing to happen lately with Eleanor. Week before last--actually, I remember it was the day after Valentine's Day, so February 15--I decided to try to rock Ella to sleep for the night rather than nursing her, as I've always done. The next day, as I shared the story with Serena (Thank God! She was the perfect person to understand), she asked in shock why in the world I decided to do that. Let me explain. When Aidan was a baby, I still had an office job. I worked odd hours because John and I toggled our schedules to avoid childcare for so long. I breastfed exclusively, and pumped a lot. Aidan was used to bottles and used to John putting him to bed. Often, even if I was home, John would sing and rock Aidan to sleep without me. Sometimes I would join in for fun.
It was a sweet time. In contrast, my sweet baby girl Eleanor snubbed her nose at a bottle from the earliest introductions (between three and six weeks, just as we read). She would rather be hungry until mom came home than drink from a bottle. Most people know how only recently (and she's just turned 13 months old! ) has Ella warmed a little to solid foods. I think this exhibits her desire to only drink mama's milk at all costs. But I treasure the memories of John "nursing" Aidan to sleep, and I want him to have that will Ella, too.
At first, that night, we let her cuddle between the two of us on the couch, but when she wanted to nurse we nudged her away. Instantly she became upset. I couldn't handle not holding her when she cried, so I alone then did my best to comfort her and soothe her cries. I danced with her, played music for her, but she cried and screamed frantically. I don't know why I kept with it. I had some misguided idea that I had to start what I finished. At one point she slapped her hands at my body and face in a desperate attempt to communicate her needs to me. I was balling, and John could only hold me as I held her. Forty minutes later, she fell asleep, exhausted from the ordeal. I put her down, and fell apart. My heart was broken, shattered by the cruelty I'd just inflicted on my child. For forty minutes, she cried and I chose not to give her what I knew she was asking for. I was so upset, John and I both knew we'd made a horrible choice. Within a few minutes, he left the room and came back with her so I could hold her and nurse her and try to make it all better.
I know some parents let their children cry themselves to sleep, and therefore won't think anything of my story. When your baby cries, your mama brain has a physical response, you release stress hormone that can only be soothed when you go to your baby. It's nature's way of helping us survive. But like any physical response, you can teach your body to ignore it. I've always thought this was dangerous. I want my body to remain responsive to my baby's needs, for safety sake. Your child will eventually learn that they won't be responded to when they cry, and hence just go to sleep. And here again, I never wanted to teach my baby I wouldn't always respond to her. So having never taught my body these lessons, on a very physical level, I was a wreck for a few days.
I told my Ellie, as I cried and nursed her that night, that I promise to never do that again. Ella has never been like her brother, so I shouldn't have tried to make her be. Ella is very sensitive. She likes to watch the world from mom's arms rather than jump in like Aidan. She warms to people slowly, but once she does, you can be assured it's a compliment because her intuition about personalities is finely tuned. When she's comfortable, it's easy to see that her intelligent mind at work. While she certainly is willful, most of her personality stems from her keen discernment about comfortable verses uncomfortable situations rather than stubbornness. In other words, she is very aware of herself and social situations. I say all this in an effort to explain that I intentionally indulge her huge need to nurse because I know it's a rare comfort for her. She needs it. I've observed in her an awareness that, had I chosen to time her feedings or not nurse, she would have been a high-need baby, perhaps even labeled with some learning disorder.
This, in turn, makes me wonder how many high-need babies are simply not understood. Their needs don't match up with society's vision for a proper child, so rather than change to meet the child, we label and even medicate children that don't fit the mold. By nursing Ella on her cues, we've never missed a night of sleep, not even for an overseas flight, or when we experienced a seven-hour time change in Europe.
John later said that we did what we did because we thought Ella needed to learn something, but it turned out we were the ones who needed the lesson. We were reminded how very close to our children we are because of our decision to always respond to them so intuitively. We needed to be reminded that our wants reflect our adult lives, and aren't always as important as our children's wants that reflect their child lives. We can go their way, but they can't come ours. I needed to be reminded what a treasure nursing my baby is. It's an honor, not an obligation. Rather than wishing my children were something different, I have to champion them exactly as they are. And I should have no trouble doing that, because they're wonderful. 
