I first began my MILK project in 2020, when my eldest daughter was just about to turn 5, as a way to connect with other mothers who were also breastfeeding beyond infancy. It just so happens that the UK has some of the lowest breastfeeding/chestfeeding rates in the world, which made this project feel even more important to me.
I’ve been breastfeeding for the past 8 years. My daughter decided to stop just before her 6th birthday, and now I can feel my breastfeeding journey slowly coming to an end with my son, who’s 4 and a half. It feels bittersweet. He is my last, and when our journey ends, it will mark a shift in my journey as a mother. I will still be needed but no longer through my body, which has been shared and not completely my own for over eight years. Breastfeeding has become such a normal part of my life. Like breathing, it’s not even something I think about. I have been blessed to be surrounded by people who don’t blink an eyelid when my little one wants his “numnum”, and I am truly so grateful for that.
Nursing has always been about more than just nutrition; it has helped regulate emotions when my children need calming, it’s been a source of connection when there are feelings of worry or uncertainty, and it’s offered comfort when injuries arise. But most beautifully of all, nursing has gifted me pockets of time during our busy days when life slows down, our eyes connect, our breathing becomes synchronised, and we enter the most sacred space. This is something I will never forget.
It will be a huge identity shift for me as a mother because I will no longer be a ‘breastfeeding mother’, which is something I have identified so strongly as. But I am excited for this next stage in my mothering journey, and I feel so proud that my body has been able to sustain the lives of two little humans.
Steph with Elana (3 years and 9 months)
My breastfeeding journey started 11 years ago with my eldest who self-weaned just as my second was born. When I got pregnant with our third baby, Elana, my second child was still very much dependent on “booby” and continued to breastfeed throughout the pregnancy.
Elana’s entrance into the world was not as planned. She was born into the bright lights of my living room, surrounded by paramedics and midwives. A homebirth, but not how I had envisaged it. She latched on almost immediately, despite the chaos around her. We had to spend the following 12 hours in hospital so she could be monitored due to minor complications at birth, but it was obvious she was fine and we went home.
Being the third child in a home-educating family meant Elana spent most of the time in a sling while I shepherded the other two to various places, and she became a real pro at feeding on the go. Woven wraps were my transport method of choice for her, and we got loosening and tightening down to a fine art.
I struggled with postnatal depression for her first year, which made breastfeeding all the more important for us as it gave us the chance to bond, even when I wasn’t mentally strong enough to do much else.
When Elana was 16 months old, I was diagnosed with cancer, which threw a spanner in the works for us. Due to the radiation from PET scans and various treatments, I had to be away from her and ‘pump and dump’ for a few days each time. She was so patient with me, and when it was safe to feed again, she took to it like nothing had happened, although I always felt immense guilt at not being able to be there for her.
Now, at 3 years and 9 months, mummy milk is a staple at bedtime to encourage sleep to take over. It’s still a big part of her life and will be available to her until she no longer wants it. In the meantime, we continue the stop–start routine while I continue kicking cancer’s butt.
Kate with Solly (2 years and 8 months)
I’ve been breastfeeding without a break for over 6 years now and it’s been such an important part of my parenting. From the ease with which it would get my children to sleep (and back to sleep) when they were very young, to the calming of upsets, and the opportunity to just sit still and rest when inundated by the demands of an always-on-the-go toddler. It’s been like a magical reset button.
I never thought I’d breastfeed for this long, and, if I’m honest, I always thought feeding toddlers and children was a bit unnecessary. But having my own children and being led by them and what felt natural, it became completely normal to me. My eldest, Leo, weaned at 4, with some nudging from me, as tandem nursing him and his younger brother was too much for me. My youngest, Solly, is still going at 2 years and 8 months, with no sign of slowing down. I’m hoping to just let him wean of his own accord.
Lillian with Bowie and Camden (5 years and 8 months)
Natural term breastfeeding has meant increasingly more to me with the opportunity for reflection that time has given me. The perceptions I had prechildren, compared to the knowledge I have now, shows how much we can evolve if we allow hormones and instinctual parenting in the driving seat. I have had over nine and a half years of breastfeeding without stopping, because I learned how it was possible to tandem feed and the bonding benefits for toddler and baby. This was extended to nursing two toddlers when the twins arrived, and their team effort to relieve the engorgement between pumping sessions during the twins’ NICU stay and their teeny efforts at the breast. The connection and grounding breastfeeding gave us all during those months was invaluable.
It seems so distant, cradling a baby and learning the most comfortable latch positions, doing compressions while they nursed, to now managing their changing jaws and acrobatic levels of fidgeting.
Breastfeeding has become so much of my identity: what I’ve worn (can I feed in it?); how I’ve planned the days (public tandem feed or can we get home in time?). It was all around nursing and comforting the children on demand. As they get older, the comfort comes in hugs, story times snuggled together and grabbing one-toone moments with each of them.
To have breastfed the twins has been a huge privilege and achievement for all three of us. With them nearing 6 years old and that being the age when their siblings fully weaned, we are preparing for life with cuddles rather than “booby”. I’m readying myself for the hormonal shift that will likely take place when demand for milk is ceased. Each time they nurse I try to soak in the moment. All of this has been in aid of giving them health and nutritional foundations for the rest of their lives.
Chloe with Alba (2 years and 5 months)
It makes me laugh that, while pregnant, I put so much emphasis on birth and didn’t give breastfeeding a second thought. Birth lasted less than a day, and breastfeeding I’ve been at for a total of six years. Luckily, we had no trouble with the latch, and the journey has been pretty breezy. My breasts amaze me. Just women in general – our bodies – just wow! The comfort my breasts give my children is like a magical antidote to all difficult situations.
Watching the relationship between baby and boob has really opened my eyes to the instinctual nature we all hold. Especially when babies are cluster feeding as newborns to bring the milk in! How do they know that’s what they need to do? The innate intelligence blows me away. Breastfeeding has been a lesson in surrendering. Baby wants to feed continuously, well, I’ll snuggle in and binge-watch Netflix, or read a book I’ve wanted to pick up for ages. Obviously, this is easier with a first child. When I feel resistance to breastfeeding, this is when it gets hard. These times I just have to step out of my head and into my body and dive into those grateful milk-drunk eyes. Then, it’s all good. Just writing and imagining this makes me nostalgic and I can feel my breasts responding!
I’ve gained a mountain more compassion and connection to other mammals. I feel no different from them in regard to motherhood. We all have the same nurturing pull towards our children, the same unconditional love and fierce protectiveness.
Breastfeeding has given me the freedom to be spontaneous and to travel light. The mother provider, nurturer: an unbreakable bond. Let’s honour the darker aspects too. Aversion, twiddling, baba getting used to teeth, hormonal surges. Resentment has crept in at times. When you solely breastfeed, it’s on you to provide, and sometimes you just need a break. Unfortunately, society doesn’t really support the mother role in general. Like every other emotion, the harder ones are fleeting: e-motion = energy in motion. What’s left behind is the unshakable, unconditional love that is underlying all nature and within all beings.
Beccy with Juniper (3 years and 5 months)
I struggled to breastfeed my first two children. With the third, I was so busy being heavily overdue and fed up that I forgot to panic about the upcoming boob saga. I was relaxed about it, and after a fast and furious labour, our breastfeeding journey started with little stress.
Three and a half years in, breastfeeding rolls with the ups and downs of life. Sometimes I feel touched out, but mostly it gets me another cosy half an hour in bed in the early hours of the morning. It soothes the turmoil of grazed knees and stinging nettles, it clears up sticky eyes, and it nourishes poorly tummies. It calms tired tears and lets us rest when things get too much.
June’s sweet, freckly face looking up at me simplifies even the most stressful of times and reminds me that the long days spent doing my best, or simply just getting through, matter. Breastfeeding champions pure love and total connection over everything else.
Naomi with Seb (4 years and 2 months)
Breastfeeding for me has been a journey into the wonder of resources my body can provide. Sharing this with my son in a way that supports him to grow has been magical. There have been lessons around spontaneity, slowing down, and responding to needs that arise in each moment. There have been opportunities to listen to cues – loud ones – within both my own body and in relationship with my son. It’s been freeing to release expectations around what should be happening, or the routine that should be in place, and instead to exist in a state of flow. I am empowered, following a biological process that feels ancient and instinctual, guided by the invisible processes of a mechanism operating beyond conscious thought. It has made me think about a lot of other unconscious processes, and it’s taught me about how to listen to the needs of my own body in each moment.
I feel comfort knowing that my milk can adapt to my child, such as when it makes antibodies if we are sick, and there have been many times when only I have become ill, perhaps for this reason. I feel grateful for that, and also for the simplicity of having his food with us always. In the rush of organising life, especially when he was a baby, it was peaceful to know that that aspect of things was always covered. The night-time cuddles have been so lovely too. The time and money saved seems small compared to our connection and the ongoing collection of quiet, cuddly moments.
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Ann Owen is a family photographer who specialises in celebrating all the seasons of motherhood. She is also JUNO’s Home Ed columnist. She is a mama to two children, and along with her husband, cat and a praying mantis, they live in Dorset. annowenfoto.com and on Instagram @ann.owen.foto
If you would like to read more about Ann’s journey – the ups and downs – along with the stories of many other mothers, visit annowenfoto.com/milk/. There you will also find links to supportive organisations and articles.
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World Breastfeeding Week runs from 1 until 7 August every year. worldbreastfeedingweek.org
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Published in issue 85. Accurate at the time this issue went to print.
