Seven Months and Counting

I sit typing this with one hand, holding a seven-month-old baby to my left breast with my left hand as my nearly three-year-old daughter sneaks under my right arm to nurse on the right, the side I'm typing with. I have been tandem nursing now for seven months, and it has been an interesting experience. At no point has it really been easy; however, it has been doable and, at times, even pleasurable.

Like this afternoon when I was able to coordinate our three naps into the same two-hour period, my baby's warm head cradled sweatily on my arm, my toddler draped over my other side to reach the breast slightly tilted away from her for the baby's benefit. We listened to the newly-returned birds chirping in the tree outside the window, finally open to admit a cool Spring breeze. One available breast persuaded my baby to close her eyes a little earlier than she might have, and the other drew my toddler to me like an alphabet magnet is drawn to the fridge, helping me convince her to stay put instead of "play toys" just long enough to bring on sleep. Snuggled under the comforter on our king-size bed, we drifted off, the day-time sleep healing to me and simply a part of daily life for my children.

So it is with afternoons like this that I number the months of nursing two, not thinking too much about how and when and if I will ever nurse just one again, hoping it will not evolve into nursing three (I may have to put my foot down somewhere). But for now, I dwell in the moments that I find enjoyable, the baby playing with the toddler's hair, the toddler trying to manipulate my breast back into the distracted baby's mouth ("Have a milk! Have a milk!" she says), the two of them holding hands, looking into each other's eyes, and gulping down my gift to them, my milk.