The Strike

It started out with a few bites from Farley while nursing the week before.  Malcolm never bit me that hard but his teeth came in a lot later.  These were enough to draw blood and get a few yelps out of me. 
In the wee hours of Thursday morning it was all teeth and I had enough for the night.  I put Farley in his crib to cry and do what ever else he had to do.  Frankly I can't remember what happened at that point, I think Ashley ended up rescuing him and cradling him back to sleep.
Thursday Farley refused to nurse, except for once at 3:30pm as he nursed himself down for a nap.

This is where I should stop and explain that pretty much the only ways Farley falls asleep is to nurse, while driving in the car, in the stroller walking, or being worn in a carrier.  He refuses to use a soother or drink from a bottle or sippy cup.  So when I realized what direction this situation was taking I started to panic.

Thursday night was rough.  I carried and rocked and bobbed with Farley until he wore himself out.  By that time I was exhausted and freezing cold.  By the next morning I had a fever with no other symptoms.  Perhaps this was the cause for the nursing strike?  Farley continued to accept my milk from a spoon so it was not the taste.  Was it because he had teeth coming in or was it because I scared him when he bit me?  Because there is no one reason for a nursing strike the reasons were limitless and I felt helpless.

Ashley was busy all weekend with Ski Patrol requalification so there was no break for me over the weekend.  Malcolm, Farley and I trucked on the best we could.  By Monday we needed to get out of the house and keep on living.  I'm grateful that Jen and Sarah helped us out by suggesting a trip to the Science and Tech Museum.  Monday evening I had an appointment with our family doctor to rule out any physical illness.  I felt guilty for hoping that Farley had some raging ear infection that could be fixed up with a round or antibiotics.  No such luck.

On Wednesday I got myself a double electric pump.  My little manual pump was working overtime, I was getting sick and tired of washing it so frequently and I didn't want to end up with carpel tunnel as a result of a nursing strike.  I also got the advice from Laurel to try the Chiropractor, which we did on Thursday or Day 8.

I'll put it out there.  I'm pro breastfeeding and pretty adamant about my position and beliefs.  I know that this can be a controversial subject and I will be the first to admit that up to this point I've had an easy time breastfeeding both kids.  Malcolm self weaned at around 14 months.  He bit me on the ferry to Newfoundland and then looked up at me and smiled.  I said enough and he never asked to nurse again.  I realize I had been forcing him to nurse by this time and although I was willing to do extended breastfeeding he was not.
This nursing strike was the first real test to see if I could keep going and live up to the high standards I have created for myself.  All the advice I found on the subject of nursing strikes seemed to be directed towards younger babies, and gave tips and tricks that were impossible to do with a four year old who needs to be kept busy and out of the house (lots of skin to skin contact, constantly keep offering to nurse).  Not to mention the time that it was taking me to pump, then spoon-feed bottles of milk into Farley to keep him hydrated.  And oh yes you are supposed to stay relaxed about the whole thing and when the baby refuses the nipple, to make it seam like 'hey, no big deal'.  Oh and did I mention the stifling heat wave we were suffering?

In my quest for more advice and information I found a story of a baby who was on a nursing strike for TWO MONTHS!!! I could not keep that up and by the time we were into the second week I was questioning what I was going to do.  Yes, some people suggested that maybe that was the end of the nursing relationship (even my family doctor), but I refused to accept that.  Even if I did switch to formula I was still going to have to syringe (We had moved up at this point) every last drop into Farley's mouth.  Farley was too young to stop nursing and he did it so suddenly that by all indications this was not self weaning.

On Labour day Monday Farley had a fever and was even more out of sorts that he had been over the last week.   That afternoon, after Clara, Leo, Marc and Laurel left after an overnight visit (another much needed distraction), Ashley set Malcolm up in the basement to watch Star Wars.  I was going to sit down to pump yet again, and on a bit of a whim decided to offer Farley to nurse before I started.  I could not believe it when he latched on.  I was in shock and did not want to make a sound or move a muscle in fear that he would stop.  So there we sat watch Star Wars, the big-uns eating popcorn and Farley nursing away like it was no big deal.  Tears of relief were shed by me and I think Ashley felt pretty much the same way.

I survived a 12 day nursing strike with an eight month old baby.  Can I call Labour day Nursing day from now on?