A premise: I know that breastfeeding is a divisive issue. Even though I’m a big fan and I write about early childhood, I haven’t written much about it because I don’t like conflict (Eirene was the Greek goddess of peace – and I’m named after her), and I believe breastfeeding is – ultimately – a private matter.
But it stops being a private matter when people step in and try to decide for mothers.
I won’t bore you with the exact details. Just know that the mix of Italy’s lengthy lockdown plus my family’s nomadic lifestyle resulted in an appointment with a new paediatrician for my son last week for a regular check-up.
Lorenzo is 15 months old. He’s healthy, sociable and curious. He likes to run around, and he likes eating. There’s nothing we’ve fed him since he started eating solids that he hasn’t liked – the list includes lupini beans, grapefruit and artichoke. He still nurses from time to time. Some days he nurses more often, but mostly he breastfeeds to fall asleep at night.
This is an arrangement that works for the two of us. I won’t lie to you: sometimes I wish Lorenzo was already 18 years old and away at university and that I could simply avoid his bedtime routine (as well as his tantrums). But mostly I love looking at him as he latches on to me, inspecting his fingers and caressing him until his eyes roll back and he falls asleep.
I’ve been lucky…