My Life as a Nursing Wife: The Sixth Month

For the past six months, I have re-dedicated my life to that of a nursing wife, a joyful journey that I have been blessed to share with the man I love; he is my constant and faithful companion, my dearest friend, the father of my children, and just as the seasons have blossomed and transformed from spring to summer, and now into autumn, so has the depth of our love.

And to be given the blessing of rediscovered new love after spending 16 years with someone is a beautiful and beloved gift.

I love Mr. S' face, the high cheekbones, the set of his jaw, the distinct sloping line of his nose, and his beautiful blue eyes, the eyes that are not truly the color of a midnight sky or a piece of fine turquoise,  but a shade somewhere in between the two, kaleidoscope eyes whose changing color is as unique as he is.

And while I have always known that comforting and familiar face, I have now been shown a very different side of it, something that can only be described as his nursing face, that visage of sublime peace and relaxation, the contentedness that smoothly transforms the little lines that fan from the corners of his eyes and erases the tiny furrows between his eyebrows, the set of his jaw, the fan of his lips, the shadows that his eyelashes cast upon his cheeks. I quietly watch him in soft, golden lamplight, as he lies contentedly and unaware at my breast, lulled by my breathing, my heart beat, my milk, everything that makes me very aware of my presence as a woman, his wife. I have memorized that face. I am in love with it.

I have nursed this man often throughout the course of our marriage, but this time, during this part of my journey, the experience is a bit different because it is a path that we have created only for us.

In the past, I was a breastfeeding mother whose breasts belonged to her children; nature had blessed me with an abundant fountain of milk, and while Mr. S drank his fill, and enjoyed it very much, it was meant for our little ones' sustenance and nourishment. He did not come to the breast until the children had been tended to and fulfilled.

Now, the children are self-reliant, and my role has shifted from breastfeeding mother to that of a nursing wife. My breasts, and every drop of the milk that we have worked together to produce over the past six months, that now flows freely from them, belong only to him. Yes, this is a journey that we have carved out for us.

I have learned to balance lactation and life. I have learned an unspoken, and sometimes surreal, depth of love. I have reminded a strong, courageous, and self-reliant man that he is free to depend upon me without fear of losing his own independence.

Nursing has provided us the beautiful opportunity to focus on us, on a strong relationship that continues to strengthen, in the most intimate way that a man and a woman can connect. It has given two imperfect people the privilege of glimpsing perfection within the embrace of another's arms.

Autumn will fade, giving way to winter, but our love will remain unchanged, forever blooming, like the rarest rose amid the drifted snow.

The Crystal Anniversary Get-Away: Part II

On August 11, Mr. S and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary, and after we returned from a completely unexpected--and beautiful-- mini get-away, I blogged about our romantic adventure, beginning this two-part post last Monday with PART I.  Here is the conclusion. :)

Before we headed out for the evening, Mr. S insisted that I open my gifts. The card he chose was so pretty.

And one of my gifts was a beautiful gold and diamond floating heart necklace.

Mr. S had made reservations for us at a fabulous fondue restaurant where we were shown to a private and intimate table for two. Imagine my surprise when I found the table top scattered with rose petals and saw the long-stemmed red rose lying at my place.

I felt so loved--and very much like a lady.

Dinner was fabulous; we shared cheese and chocolate fondue, complete with platters of artisan accompaniments and bowls of fresh fruits (and a virgin Love Martini for me).

And while the ambience was beautiful, the most perfect part of dinner was the quiet conversation we shared. We talked about everything, including our courtship and wedding day, and spent those long, leisurely moments strolling down the curving paths of memory lane. To be told that my husband still feels honored that I am his wife after so many years have passed was magical. We agreed to meet at the same place and at the same time fifteen years from that moment, and I immediately found myself anticipating that far-off moment.

Dark had fallen when we stepped out of the restaurant, and the plaza was beautifully lit with twinkling golden lights, so we took our time walking back to our car, and listened to our favorite songs as we drove back to the Welsh Hills.

Once we were settled into our beautiful suite, Mr. S lit some candles and turned on the soft, soulful strains of Billy Paul and Otis Redding. (Oh, he knows me too well, and knows what happens every time I hear "Me and Mrs. Jones" and "These Arms of Mine"! ;))

I took a relaxing bubble bath in the amazing Italian soak tub...

And Mr. S washed my back.

We spent the final moments of our Crystal Anniversary here:

Our life together is very much like a collection of eclectic short stories, part romantic fairytale and part gripping history. It is filled with passionate love stories and action-packed tales of adventure, and it is the greatest book that I have ever written. Each year I share with the man I love begins a new chapter in our book of life, and it seems that I can never wait to turn the page to find out what happens next.

The Crystal Anniversary Get-Away: Part I

I had been anticipating our 15th wedding anniversary for quite some time, but because of several recent life events, I assumed that a romantic August 11 get-away was out of the question, and made plans to spend a quiet and content evening at home.

But Mr. S had other plans.

He had arranged a fabulous anniversary surprise for me, making reservations for two at a beautiful Bed and Breakfast in the secluded Welsh Hills.

We began the morning of our crystal wedding anniversary at 6 a.m. with a glorious nursing session, and then he and I enjoyed our morning coffee before sharing breakfast with the children, who had taken the time to make us beautiful anniversary cards, and then prepared to head out just before 9:00. Once the children were settled in with my parents, Mr. S and I were free to head off on our adventure for two in the rolling Welsh Hills.

We stopped off in a beautifully quaint  historic town filled with interesting and eclectic little shops, art galleries, and cafes. The cobblestone streets were lined with blooming magenta and pink impatiens and lacy ferns and little umbrella-clad bistro tables. After strolling hand-in-hand along the winding walkways and browsing in antique jewelry shops and vintage bookstores and confectionaries, we decided to have lunch at Moe's, a bluesy restaurant on Main Street.

I loved the atmosphere. Fabulous pencil art sketches of iconic musicians lined the walls, and we enjoyed eating to soft blues music, talking over the soulful strains of Otis Redding (my favorite) and Ray Charles.

Mr. S loves the Blues Brothers, so we had to take a photo of Jake and Elwood!

Mr. S loved his "deep south" meal, prepared Alabama-style:

 Note the collard greens and red beans and rice? It's hard to believe that he was born and raised in Detroit. :) But his parents had deep southern roots that somehow managed to imprint themselves on my love. ;)

After lunch we headed out once more, this time to Whitt's coffee shop where we ordered two cups of amazing coffee and hand-made vanilla custard, which we shared under the shade of a ruffled umbrella.

I felt so relaxed, so attuned to my husband, and knew that so much awaited us.

After a while, we headed back to the car, and drove toward our destination, taking the time to admire the pretty scenery and beautiful Colonial and Victorian homes along the way. After several long moments, we reached a long, curving tree-lined, sun-dappled lane, and followed it to the inn.

The inn was breathtaking, surrounded by fifteen acres of wooded beauty and lush English gardens, and owned by the most wonderful and hospitable couple who gave us a guided tour of the grounds before showing us to our luxury king suite.

Named Berllan Glyn, Welsh for orchard glen, the guest suite was filled with fabulous antiques, art work, and a gorgeous sitting area. The luxurious two-room bath housed an impressive glass and marble steam shower and was tastefully  decorated with imported pieces of art. It also included a private screened-in terrace with a spectacular view of the gardens and private access to an amazing swimming pool.

Two o'clock had come, so we spent the next hour nursing, and afterwards, we strolled the grounds and enjoyed a long, leisurely swim in the pool, which was absolutely wonderful. Around 6:00, we shared a private--and very romantic--soak in the courtyard hot tub.

I could have been very content to spend the rest of the evening walking hand-in-hand among the gardens or enjoying the bocce ball court and the swaying two-person hammocks stretched between a pair of beautiful old pine trees, but, once again, Mr. S had other plans, so I put my hand in his, allowing him to lead me back to our suite so we could get ready for a night out.

An Adult Nursing Relationship Love Story: The 15th Year

Once upon a time, quite by chance, a girl met a boy. They fell in love at first sight, and from that very moment, they vowed never to part.

Their love continued to bloom, and before she knew it, the girl was planning her wedding. On a warm August evening, just as three generations of women in her family had done before, she  pledged her unending love to the man standing by her side, and she became his wife.

She soon learned the imperfect perfection known as marriage, and fell more deeply in love with him  as each day passed. Soon, there were bills to pay, meals to cook, laundry to wash, separations to face--and the beautiful sounds of a baby's laughter and the gentle pitter patter of tiny feet.

Time passed quickly, and over the years she sometimes found herself faced with the sacred words of her marriage vows, standing by him for richer or poorer, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, and each time life presented itself to them in a way that was not always kind, she pulled herself more tightly to his side, adjusting her sails according to the wind's direction, weathering the storm...and fell more deeply in love.

She changed over the years, from a girl into a woman--and a mother. Her body blossomed, and with each new transformation, she saw new admiration in his eyes; he continued to tell her that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen--and that he was the luckiest man in the world to have her, referring to her as "his girl", even after so many years had gone by. He told her that every change was a symbol of her love for him, creating a timeline of the history they had shared, and that every mark upon her skin was seen as a badge of honor and courage. And she knew the meaning of unabiding love in its purest form.

Suddenly, one day, as if in the blink of an eye, the calendar changed. It was August again. And the 15th year of their marriage had arrived.

Unbeknownst to her, this man had a very special surprise waiting for his "girl", and they slipped off on a romantic get-away for two, just as they had done so many years before.

They shared a wonderful day together, and that evening, he took her out for an intimate dinner, and when they were shown to their table, she found this waiting for her:

As she lifted the fragrant flower to her nose to inhale the heady perfume of its velvet petals, she realized that their love was very much like that rose. From a delicate bud it had flourished, unfurling with every passing moment, until bursting into full bloom to display the beauty it had always held inside.

And when she opened her eyes to find him watching her with a smile playing across his face, she smiled back and reached for his hand, which was waiting for her touch, and neither of them said a word. They didn't need to. Love was there...it had always been there. It was in their eyes. Just as it had been when they'd first met so long ago.

"What do you say?" he asked, lifting her hand to his mouth. "Same time, same place, 15 years from now?"

"Yes," she replied. "15 years from now. And I can't wait."

An Adult Nursing Relationship Love Story: Sunset from a Car

If you share a committed and dedicated long-term adult nursing relationship as I do with Mr. S, then you will understand that the act of nursing plays a very large part in the experience, but it seems a bit unjust and one-sided not to mention the R factor nestled within every loving and successful ANR. In many ways, as two people work so closely together to build an unbreakable intimate bond to last a lifetime, the relationship becomes key, and the practice of suckling emerges as a beautiful incidental.

That is what adult nursing is like for Mr. S and me.

Every time he comes to the breast, we create a new chapter in our personal love story.

On Saturday, my aunt kept the children so we could enjoy a few blissful hours of quality adult time. We really had no particular plans, and because my aunt assured us that we should not hurry back, we eventually decided to take a long and leisurely twilight drive along some winding, unchartered country roads.

The evening was beautiful, and the weather was perfect. We rolled down our windows and let the soft summer breeze waft through the car as we cruised along, listening to our favorite songs, sometimes talking, other times, being very still as we enjoyed the quiet contentment of the other's company. S would reach for my hand, taking it in his own, and it was wonderful to feel his strength and presence as the trill of nesting birds and the chirping of crickets provided the music of evening.

So caught up in the moment, I lost track of time, not realizing how late it had grown. The scenery rolled slowly by, and endless fields stretched far beyond us on either side of the curving road.

That was when I noticed the sky.

It was magnificent. The setting sun cast a golden glow against a backdrop of periwinkle, fuchsia, and rose, transforming the trees into perfect silhouettes. It was breathtaking, and I asked S to pull the car over to the side of the road so I could admire the consummate perfection.

I took these photos, doing my best to capture sunset from a car, but they just don't display the true beauty of Saturday's sky, or the wonderful evening I shared with my husband.

Nursing is a bit like that beautiful sunset. It is glorious, but until you have the opportunity to experience it for yourself, you'll never truly realize the beauty and magic it can bring.

Reunited!

As I sit down to write this post, I am truly a woman at peace. The house is very still, as it always is during the early hours of morning, but it no longer feels as if the silence is deafening and oppressing; it is a contented sort of peaceful quiet that I can truly enjoy once more because all is well and it feels as if my world is complete once more.

S came home to me last night.

It seemed as if he had been gone forever, and by the time I heard his car pull into our driveway around 10:50 p.m., I was as lighthearted and excited as I'd been on our very first date 16 years ago, because, you see, I had something very important to share with him.

As difficult as the long week was, I think the final three hours leading to his imminent arrival were far worse; he was so very close, but still quite far. I did a lot of pacing and clock-watching during those last 180 minutes, and every time my phone chimed, alerting me that he had texted an arrival time update, my heart soared.

Are you there, baby? I'm two hours out. Love you!

Missing you like crazy. I'm about an hour from home. 

Less than 30 minutes now. I can't wait to nurse. Love you.

Neither of us are strangers to homecomings, and I wanted this one to be just as special and meaningful as the ones we've shared in the past. I had prepared myself as meticulously as I had on that first evening so long ago, and made our nursing space warm and inviting with lit candles and lamplight.

And I had placed the small wine-colored velvet pillow, what we call S' nursing pillow, in its proper place, among my reclining pillows, on our bed.

Just before 11:00, headlights washed through the window, and I heard the familiar purring of his car as it came to a smooth stop in front of our home. The engine stopped. Everything went dark. And my heart began to race.

I never thought he would make it inside!

He didn't need his key last night because I was waiting at the door to let him in.

He was beautiful!

There were several long moments of exchanging tight embraces and long kisses and sweet endearments, and he did what he has done for many years, the one thing that makes me feel beautiful and adored and treasured.

He took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes, as if memorizing what he saw in them.

"I missed this face," he said. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," I replied. "More than anything. I'm so glad you're home."

From there, things grew a bit flirtatious; I asked him how he liked my new blouse, and I took him by the hand, and said, "Come with me. I want to show you something."

He was more than willing to follow me to the bedroom.

My body blossomed in S' absence, and I wanted to share the complete transformation with him, so we began our beautiful nursing session by looking at the photos I had taken throughout the week, and as I stroked his hair and he rubbed my back, I asked him to describe the changes he noticed, and each time he did, I reminded him that I was doing this for him. 

Always and only for him.

I took his hands, those strong, work-roughened hands that handle my flesh with such gentle reverence, and led them to my breasts so he could explore  that clothed swell, gauging their firmness, their fullness, with his  fingertips before cupping them and supporting the weight of them in his palms. I covered his hands with mine, and felt the trembling flex of his fingers as they plied and pressed against my bosom.

We were both flushed. Our hearts were  pounding in time, and when S was finally able to find his voice, his words were soft, hushed.

"They're so heavy."

"They're full," I replied. "They're full of the milk I made for you. And now they need to be emptied so you can be filled."

Our bed was waiting, warm and inviting, and he came to me, very much like a man who had been starving, and I eagerly gave him the one thing that would sate his desire.

That first latch was amazing.

Last night I was able to feed my husband's physical and emotional hunger from the breasts that had prepared such a feast over the course of one week.

It was glorious!

And when he had fed from each breast and had been lavished with caresses and kisses  and whispered words of love throughout the entirety of our nursing session, he allowed his mouth to slip from my breast, and he thanked me  for what I had given him.

But the pleasure was mine.

To be the woman who is blessed to nurture and nourish this gracious and loving man is a gift beyond compare.

He completes me.

Without S, I am only half of a person.

When he had nursed, I allowed him to drift off to sleep, and it was beautiful to lie next to him, feeling his warmth, his strong presence, and listen to the slow and steady rhythm of his breathing. A physical joining will come soon, and it will be wonderful, but last night, we shared an emotional and spiritual joining that connected our hearts and fulfilled us in a way that even lovemaking cannot.

Everyone is beginning to stir. The house will soon be as full as my heart is right now.

The children will be eager to see their father, and I will be forced to share him with three little people who have missed his presence and affection. We will take on our roles as parents once more because Dad is home, and our family is complete.

But, just as it was last night, tonight will belong only to us.

And it will be magical!

Separation Anxiety and ANR

S is leaving.

I knew this day was coming. I've known for quite some time now, and I've been able to put his departure out of my mind and focus on everything that is wonderful. But now that the time is drawing near, it is all that I can seem to think about.

We've been apart before in the past, often and for very long, difficult periods of time, under much worse circumstances. You would think I would be used to it by now, wouldn't you?

But I'm not.

I hate it when he goes away.

I know that it won't be forever. He'll be home again in a week. And what's a week, really, when you think about it?

Seven days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 604,800 seconds. 1/4 of a month.

It will seem like an eternity to me.

When he is away from me, the house seems so empty and our bed feels so lonely. At night I sleep on his pillow, and it brings him closer to me, but it's never enough to really satisfy me, because I miss feeling his chest pressed warmly against my back and his arm curled protectively around my waist as we spoon through the night. Every night that we have been together, we have slept that way for almost 15 years (unless a little one has had a bad dream or was frightened awake by a thunderstorm, and feels comfortable enough to snuggle down between Dad and Mama in their big, warm, cozy bed with the piles of soft pillows and fluffy queen-sized blanket), and I've grown very accustomed to his night-time presence.

Perhaps even too accustomed to it.

When S leaves, it always feels that he takes half of me with him. And I never truly feel whole again until he walks back through the door, filling our home--and my world--with his strength and security.

I miss watching him shave in the morning and sharing coffee with him at the breakfast table. I miss listening to him read a bedtime story to our daughter and telling our sons good-night. I miss his voice, the way his laugh fills an entire room when he's really amused by something. I miss him.

I am already beginning to feel the on-set of separation anxiety--and it's horrible.

But I think it's one of the realities that you have to face when you are in a committed ANR. You invest so much of yourself in another person that it's difficult to let them go--even for a little while. And the challenge of separation doesn't just stem from the act of nursing, but from the emotional drawing and pulling that comes along with nursing. Even if it is temporary, that connection is hard to break.

And, now, even more so because I am lactating.

I have reached a level in my lactation journey that I am very comfortable with right now. Although I plan to continue on to full lactation in the future, a goal that S and I have been working together to accomplish, I am satisfied--and thrilled--with what my breasts have achieved in just one short month. My milk supply has come in beautifully, and continues to increase, replenishing itself quickly after each feeding, but I remain at the place where I need S to draw it from my breasts, as I haven't yet reached the point of being able to express through pumping. This is another concern: I don't want to suffer from engorgement, and I certainly don't want to drop to a lower level of lactation.
S and I have spent many hours discussing our situation, and he was open enough to tell me how difficult the separation is going to be for him, too, while also showing so much support and encouragement regarding my milk dilemma. (It's so wonderful to have a supportive partner who reminds me every day that he is not nursing from my breasts for the milk, but for the intimacy and deep connection we share; even though I understand completely that he will dry nurse just as contentedly as he is feeding now, I have grown very, very fond of my milk, and I know that he has, too, and I honestly do not want to see a decrease in supply.)

After weighing and considering our options, and deciding that, as the end of the school year grows closer, it just wouldn't be practical for me to join him out-of-state, I have chosen to pump in his absence, to provide as much breast stimulation as possible. By pumping during each regularly scheduled nursing time, and possibly a couple of times in between, if time permits, I hope to maintain my milk supply, which, of course, is why I have been on a proper breastpump search and find mission over the past two weeks. :) The Mister and I are going breastpump shopping on Friday evening, as a matter of fact, which he ought to find a lot more interesting than shoe shopping, which I have been known to do on the rare occasion.

Now that I've had time to truly think about our situation, I'm sure that everything will be okay. Things often have a way of turning out better than you think they will. I am confident in the abilities of my body--and my breasts--and secure in knowing that even if my milk supply is hindered by this impending week-long separation, I have a loving man who will be eager to return to the shelter of my arms and the comfort of my bosom.

But I'm still going to miss him...

Date Night with the Mister!

I love to date my husband, and have come to anticipate our Saturdays when we will have long intimate moments that belong only to us. There is unspoken passion as we exchange eager glances across the breakfast table as the children scamper underfoot, a deep desire that must remain bridled until we're alone. There is something so exciting and intriguing about the careful preparations I will make to ensure that I turn his head and catch his eye.

I feel giddy.

Our personal ANR has helped to spark such deep passion and rekindle the fire of romance...we are closer physically and emotionally than either of us could have believed possible. It's so beautiful to fall in love...especially when you're falling in love with your spouse! ❤️

I have many articles (and maybe even a few surprises) planned for the upcoming week, so I hope you'll visit again.

Until then, stay happy! And enjoy your weekend!