I'm one of those moms who has talked to anyone who would listen for the last year about how the only reason I breastfed was because I was supposed to, because the crazy breastfeeding ladies doctors told me it was the best thing to do for my baby's health. It had nothing to do with the bonding time, the closeness, the love shared between me and my baby, or the wonderful experience of it all. I had a pretty easy time at the beginning. HD latched like a champ, I flowed like a fountain, and was really "lucky" that it all worked out. There was a hiccup called mastitis at six weeks that had me asking the doctors at the hospital to please "TAKE THEM OFF" but my memory is short, so I can call it a hiccup now instead of the life-defining moment that I thought it was at the time. There was crying and leaking and pain beyond belief, but I kept going because I "had" to. It became a competition with myself to not give up, to power through.
My original goal of six months came and went and it got even easier. Feedings and leaking decreased and I learned to live with breast pads and wearing a bra 24/7. By ten months, the one or two daytime feedings that remained were a welcome respite from chasing HD around the house and provided 10-20 quiet minutes in our now rambunctious day.
Since I was home most of the time with HD and only breastfeeding him once or twice a day, I no longer needed to pump, and started to countdown to the year mark, dropping a feeding every couple of weeks. Now, I'm down to one feeding in the morning and plan to drop it as early as tomorrow. We got the clear to start whole milk a month ago and that's been going swimmingly for HD.
Today, HD woke up after only 30 minutes of napping and was super inconsolable. We were out of whole milk and I didn't want to start my flow going so I reached into the freezer for the last of our frozen supply, and for whatever reason, even though HD's been doing the sippy cup thing exclusively for over a month, I decided to put it in a bottle. We went up to his room and sat in his chair and I fed him like a baby...as if at 11 months and 3 weeks he's not actually a baby anymore. It was quiet. It was dark. It was peaceful. I wrapped his blankie around him and he laid in my arms like he never does anymore and I fed him his bottle. We couldn't have been closer and I felt all warm and fuzzy. And then I thought, this might be his last bottle. And I cried.
I know it doesn't have to be his last bottle, and I know I don't have to stop breastfeeding either, but I'm ready to be done with it all. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I might have enjoyed breastfeeding - sometimes. I am going to miss it - a little. I do still plan to burn my nursing bras and any pads that are left over shortly after the weaning is complete.
It's been 27 years since I breastfed my second and last child,my son, who I nuresed for two years. It was a sweet and sad transition when he was finally, fully off. There are many transitions in our children's lives. Some of them are bittersweet because, while they show progress to new maturity and development, they also mean that something has been finished and left behind.
Ahh - life.
Posted by: Can-Can | November 19, 2008 at 03:26 PM