Jealousy and breasfeeding

I'm late to comment on Erica Jong's article in the New York Times, Is Sex Passé? but one thing jumped out at me: when listing all the various ways that women have supposedly given up sex for motherhood, she says that if you 'breast-feed at all hours' then your partner 'knows your breasts don’t belong to him.'

Well of course he knows that, I thought. He doesn't need me to breastfeed to know that my breasts, like the rest of my body, belongs to nobody but me. Is this real? Do people really think like this? When we're in a committed relationship, do our partners 'own' our bodies?

To some people, it seems so. Rabbi Shmuley Boteach on Beliefnet goes so far as to compare breastfeeding to adultery, as the mother 'gives her breasts to her son and takes them away from her husband'. So only one person can use your breasts at once, and if the baby gets them, Dad will just have to go without.

This is partly a problem with the oversexualisation of breasts (as I blogged about before) but I think some of this comes from an over-enthusiastic application of monogamy: for some, sexual exclusivity translates into ownership.

When I ran this idea past my husband, he was genuinely baffled. The idea that my breasts ever 'belonged' to him, as Jong said, or that he might be jealous of our child's access to my breasts was something that hadn't crossed his mind. Of course, seeing as he doesn't ask for exclusive access to any part of my sexuality, it's hardly surprising that non-sexual contact with my body doesn't bother him. But I hope that you don't need to be polyamorous to have a problem with this level of entitlement. Surely you can be monogamous without expecting your partner to actually belong to you?

Ultimately, I don't think this is a problem with monogamy, but I can see that perhaps a more open-minded attitude to relationship structures might help. When, like Jong and Boteach, your monogamous principles are challenged by the normal, healthy act of breastfeeding, it probably isn't the breastfeeding that's causing the problem. If people had a broader view of the different kinds of ways in which we can love, perhaps they'd be able to choose monogamy without feeling conflicted when they use their breasts to care for their child. (And as we're so far away from the WHO's goal of exclusive breastfeeding until 6 months, and continued breastfeeding until at least 2 years, we need all the help we can get.) Then, maybe, we'd be able to ditch the old-fashioned notion that sexuality and motherhood are somehow antithetical.

Needs and wants

Poly Means Many: There are many aspects of polyamory. Each month six bloggers - ALBJ, An Open Book, More Than Nuclear, One Sub's Mission, Post Modern Sleaze, and Rarely Wears Lipstick - will write about their views on one of them. This month, our topic is "Needs/wants" - visit the other blogs to read the other perspectives on this topic.

When it comes to our relationships, what do we need, and what do we merely want? In most cases, I think it's a false and maybe even unhelpful distinction.

Babies don't know the difference. Gina Ford, The Baby Whisperer and other parenting experts advise against feeding babies whenever they cry, because if babies got what they wanted, they might end up being fed so often it exhausts the mother. They just don't need milk this often. Far better, they say, to stretch the distance between their feeds to 2, 3 or even 4 hours to make sure that they are really hungry, and will take a sufficient "good" feed.

Two weeks ago, a study was published that suggested that scheduling or stretching out their feeds in this way might actually lower their IQ. Babies who were fed on demand (whether than was with a bottle or the breast) performed significantly better at school, even when their parents only demand-fed because they couldn't handle sticking to the routine. Feeding to a schedule is also associated with childhood obesity, as babies are trained to take in more milk than is comfortable to encourage less frequent feeding.

So if you have a baby like mine, who fed erratically, often more than once an hour, is satisfying this hunger just a want, or is it a need?

The same study found that to a certain extent, Gina Ford and The Baby Whisperer were right - feeding your baby to a schedule results in mothers who are better rested and who report feeling less tearful and overwhelmed. Making their child wait made them more likely to get what they wanted.

So, to put it bluntly, as a parent, you have a choice: sublimate your own desires, or stunt your child's intelligence and health. When it comes to going to the toilet, waiting for a more convenient place to pull the car over, or leaving my dinner to burn, I sometimes choose me. But what having a baby has taught me about my own needs and wants is that a lot of things I thought I needed, like unbroken sleep, I could actually do without. I still want more sleep, of course, but I'm surprised at how little I actually need.

Which is why I think that when it comes to romantic relationships, the distinction between wants and needs is misleading. Some of the things that you thought you needed, you may discover that you can do without, as I discovered I could do without sleep for my daughter. But if you don't want to do without them, do you need to reframe it as a "need" to make that desire valid?

When people ask us why, if my marriage is so happy, do we need other partners, I say that I don't. It's not that I need other partners; I just don't need monogamy. I could do it - I just don't want to. Why is it necessary to need other partners for me to seek them out?

There is a risk, I suspect, that separating out what you need from what you merely want could make it easier for you and maybe even your partners to to treat these things as "not important". Just because you don't need something, (whether that is a daily phonecall or a regularly cleaned bathroom) it doesn't mean that it isn't important - as I've shown, ignoring what babies want might have very serious consequences. Fellow "Poly Means Many" blogger, Polly Oliver has written about how she values a certain degree of selfishness in her partners, and I think she's right. It's healthy to want things. My daughter wanted food more often than I was told she would, and it turns out, she had good reasons.

But just as giving up what you want can be a bad idea, you might need to put aside some of the things you had previously labeled as "needs" to keep a relationship that's important to you. It can be so so worth it, as becoming a mother has shown me. I have so little of the things I thought I needed, but am happier and more fulfilled than ever. Even if I still wish I got more sleep.

Jealousy

Poly Means Many: There are many aspects of polyamory. Each month six bloggers - ALBJ, An Open Book, More Than Nuclear, One Sub's Mission, Post Modern Sleaze, and Rarely Wears Lipstick - will write about their views on one of them. This month, our topic is "Jealousy" - visit the other blogs to read the other perspectives on this topic.

March's topic was on Jealousy: a very common topic when discussing polyamory. I wasn't able to take part, but please have a look at those who did!

"You just haven't met the right one yet."

Poly Means Many: There are many aspects of polyamory. Each month six bloggers - ALBJ, An Open Book, More Than Nuclear, One Sub's Mission, Post Modern Sleaze, and Rarely Wears Lipstick - will write about their views on one of them. This month, our topic is "Explaining polyamory to the monogamous" - visit the other blogs to read the other perspectives on this topic.

When explaining polyamory to the disbelieving or curious, it's common to use the analogy of a parent's love for their children: nobody doubts that you can love more than one child , so why is it hard to believe you can love more than one partner?

Ahh, the disbelieving monogamists will say, but parental love is different. You just haven't met the right one yet. When the right person comes along, that love will be so strong that you won't want any others, and you'll want to be monogamous, too. You can't love two people the way you can love two of your children.

And of course it is different, but it's not as different as people think.

In some of the early research into the links between our relationship with our parents and our romantic relationships as adults, Hazan and Shaver noted that both lovers and parent-child pairs "play with one another's facial features and exhibit a mutual fascination and preoccupation with one another". This tender gazing into each other's eyes and stroking their hair or cheek, an act so linked to romantic love it is little more than a cliche, is something very familiar to parents. Sally Read, in her poem Latching On, describes the look on a newborn's face as 'like a lover's eyes'. The last poem I posted on my blog is a love poem, but it's there because I am often reminded of it when I look at my daughter's face. It looks right, as Muir puts it, as if hers is the perfect human face and all others lack for something. I have had that feeling when looking at a lover, but never this strongly.

Sylvia Plath's poem You're is about her unborn child, but was published in The Nation's Favourite Love Poems. Just as the polyamorous will sometimes use a parent's love for their children to explain how you can love more than one romantic partner, it would be difficult to explain how I feel about my daughter without making it sound like a grand passion, and many poets have done exactly that.

Other similarities that Hazan and Shaver noted (summarised here) are that both lovers and parent-child pairs 'feel safe when the other is nearby and responsive', 'engage in close, intimate, bodily contact', 'feel insecure when the other is inaccessible, 'share discoveries with one another' and of course 'engage in "baby talk"'. Of course there are differences (sex being the most obvious) but so many of the key features are the same, that many psychologists now think that our relationship with our parents can work as a sort of test run for our adult love affairs. We learn how to form loving relationships of all kinds from our parents, and children who are securely attached to their parents, find romantically attaching themselves to others easier as adults.

When I am separated from her, I feel her physical absence keenly, and can easily fixate on how much I want to hug her. My husband sometimes holds her hand while she is asleep. The comfort and joy we share when we hold her, kiss her, nuzzle our faces into her neck, blow raspberries on her belly and pretend to eat her toes is not at all unlike a romantic passion, and, as Kate Saunders puts it, it is definitely the stormiest love affair of my life so far.

And quite honestly, I struggle to imagine loving another baby quite this strongly. Wouldn't this powerful love stunt the growth of any love I would feel for a second child? How could I possibly love any other in quite this way?

But of course, I know that I could. I see, all around me, parents in multiple loving relationships with their children, so although I sometimes struggle to conceptualise it as possible, I know that it can be done

Perhaps the difficulty people face in comparing multiple loving relationships between parents and their children and between the polyamorous is simply this lack of good models. Conducting relationships openly this way is not the norm, so when people feel that they couldn't love another, the way that new parents often do, where do they see polyamorous relationships modelled the way I see parents loving more than one child? Our society's prevailing narrative of love comes down as strongly on the side of the "one true love" story of romance as it does on the multiple love story of parenthood.

It would be offensive in the extreme to suggest to a mother or father of multiple children that they just "hadn't had the right child yet", and when "the one" arrived, they would naturally lose interest in the children they had before. It would be unconscionably rude to doubt a parent when they say that they love all of their children, and that they have no desire to have a one child family.

And if you can imagine how it might feel if someone said that about you and your children, you can probably imagine how I feel when I'm told I just "haven't met the right one yet".

'Motherbaby'

Rachel Cusk, in her unflinching book about motherhood, A Life's Work, describes the new mother and her infant as 'a composite creature, best referred to as mother-and-baby or perhaps motherbaby.' 'I feel like a house,' she writes, 'to which an extension has been added.'

In the nine months she spent in my womb, my baby grew from a single celled life-form into a human being. Until birth, she did even need to breathe or eat, as my body did everything or her. She emerged still attached to me, needing to be physically severed by her father with repeated attempts using a pair of medical scissors. It was as she resisted our separation. And although the cord was cut, this did not mark her separation from me, just the beginning of it.

After birth, my womb felt huge and empty, leaving me with a hollow sensation that made me all the more aware that the symbiosis of pregnancy was over. Now, when she sucked at me, my stomach cramped around her absence, shrinking back to what it was before, when I was a single person. But I wasn't that single person then, and I'm still not.

I sometimes imagined that separated existence pained her, and periodically, she needed to be brought to back to me and plugged in, not just for food, but to recharge our connection. We never knew how long a gap was acceptable between these dockings: sometimes enough for a bath or shower, sometimes (thrillingly) enough for me attempt something as risky as leaving the house without her. Because although her father had an enormous arsenal of tricks that calmed and delighted her, there was one thing only I could do, and it never seemed far from her mind. Gradually, she accepted longer and longer periods of time without me, and then finally, started to shift from parasitically relying on me for nutrition to eating solid food.

Now, at more than half a year since her birth, the separation of motherbaby into just parent and child feels like a plausible future. This separation is something that I both long for and dread. I still ache for her when we are apart, though the ache takes longer and longer each time before it bothers me.

Our relationship is like a love affair in reverse. We began with our lives impossibly tangled together, and now we are gradually growing apart. She spends less and less time in my arms, and one day, she'll leave me.

For Jemmy, the more that Small and I grow apart, the more of me he can have back. Parenting is not something we share as it is with my husband, and so this early intensity has pushed us apart, despite his importance to my family. But for her father, this story is very different. When he cut the cord, that was the beginning of his ability to parent without me. During pregnancy and early infancy, taking care of his child often meant taking care of me. Just as I am feeling her ripping away from me, I am also needed less and less as an intermediary in their relationship.

And ultimately, this was the plan all along - not an extension to myself, but a child that we can raise as a family.

The Confirmation, by Edwin Muir

Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face,
I in my mind had waited for this long.
Seeing the false and searching the true,
Then I found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong
Valleys and rocks and twisting roads.
But you, what shall I call you?
A fountain in a waste.
A well of water in a country dry.
Or anything that's honest and good, an eye
That makes the whole world bright.
Your open heart simple with giving, give the primal deed.
The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed.
The hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea,
Not beautiful or rare in every part
But like yourself, as they were meant to be.

Breastfeeding

I was not prepared for how much I would enjoy breastfeeding. Leaving aside the health benefits of breastfeeding (or the health risks of not breastfeeding, depending on how you'd rather phrase it), it is about far more than food: it makes her sleepy, soothes her, comforts her and distracts her when she is bored. It is the lazy mother's best parenting tool.

From the first time that my daughter ejected the nipple from her lips with an audible "pop" and collapsed onto my bosom, nipple pressed against her cheek, wrapping her tiny arms around my breast and falling peacefully and beautifully asleep, I was utterly sold.

But, oh sweet Jesus, is breastfeeding ever a bind. Neither Gaius or I believed that parenting tasks should be doled out according to the vagaries of gender, and he passionately rejects the restrictive notion that a father's job should revolve around "breadwinning". We were emphatically committed to sharing the duties of parenting. But this is something that we cannot share. It does not matter how much of a feminist you are, how committed you are to equal parenting, how dismissive you are of gender roles: if one of you is breastfeeding, your sex will result in you being utterly tied to that child in a way that no one else can share. You can fight the patriarchy, but you cannot fight biology: biology is not concerned with equal rights.

Yes, I could express milk so someone else can give it to her in a bottle, but expressing milk takes longer than actually feeding her; then you've got to wash and sterilise the pump and the bottles, and then you've really got to pump when you would have fed her anyway to make sure your body keeps producing the right amount of milk. And yes, we could give her the occasional bottle of formula milk, but not only is there a good chance that she will refuse it (it just doesn't taste as nice), but that really would be putting my desire for freedom above her health, as it could endanger her virgin gut. The path of least resistance in this case is just to go with the flow and end up, as in our case, with one parent staying at home with the baby, and the other going out to work. Oh how are the mighty rejecters-of-traditional-gender-roles fallen.

For the first few months of her life, it felt like she was on elastic - I'd pass her over to someone else, but it was usually only a matter of minutes before she would ping back to my nipple once more.

I have cried because I couldn't get a moment to myself. I have fantasised about a measly four hours of uninterupted sleep. And from a polyamorous point of view, I have resigned myself to not being able to leave my baby for more than a few hours at a time, day or night, for a long time yet. This does not make my relationship with Jemmy easy.

Gaius, on the other hand, is able to be far more flexible. He can sleep with his other lovers in our spare room. He can go out on dates in his evenings. He has even spent one or two nights away from us! Amazing! All of this is rare, and completely with my blessing, but I would be lying if I said that I wasn't intensely jealous - not for the time he spends with other women, but for the time he spends without Small.

We had a New Year's Eve party this year. At about 2am, I left the drinking and the laughter of some of our dearest friends downstairs, and crawled into bed next to my daughter. I pulled her close and helped her to latch on. I nestled my nose into her warm hair and wrapped my arm around her, listening to her grateful swallows. And then, when she had finished and fallen into a deep, satiated sleep, I didn't immediately return to the party; I stayed to feel her warm face pressed against my skin, to listen to her soft breathing and smell her warm, milky breath. Jealous as I am of my husband's freedom, I know he would swap with me in a heartbeat.

We don't say it often, but we both know that biology has given me the better deal.

P.S. If you or someone you know is struggling with breastfeeding, please encourage them to get help. Don't rely on support and advice that isn't working. Good places to start are the NCT and La Leche League. Breastfeeding can be hard, but it is so, so worth it.