I knew this time was coming, and I have been desperately working to delay it as long as possible. I expected it would be hard but couldn’t imagine quite how emotional it would actually be. Typing “end” in this blog post title produces a heavy feeling. I don’t want this to be the end of my breastfeeding journey. If I had it my way, we wouldn’t be done.
If Layla would have it her way, we wouldn’t be done either. So why are we? I’ve found it difficult to not get frustrated with my body in the last couple of months as my supply has dipped below Layla’s needs.
The good fight
But man, I fought hard. It wasn’t totally unlike my experience with Ellie; different circumstances but the same give-it-all-I’ve-got kind of fight. Ironically, with Layla, I started with an oversupply of milk but it slowed way down once I was nursing her on one side at a time. It also didn’t help that she was a serious snacker and distracted eater!
At 4 ½ months and 6 ½ months I hit dips that I thought I wouldn’t bounce back from. Then between months 8 and 10, it was a constant struggle, like an all-consuming constant effort to keep my supply steady. There wasn’t anything I didn’t try: supplements, teas, oils, cookies, increased calories, visualization, affirmations, energy work. I even tried not trying, truly letting go and thanking my body for what it had provided my baby this far and letting be what would be.
It’s funny, after my challenges breastfeeding Ellie – we barely squeaked past 7 months – I remember thinking that if I had it my way I’d nurse my next baby until 9 months. Not too short, not too long, just right. As if, I knew then what would be best for me now.
“I don’t feel done”
This time around, 9 months felt nowhere near long enough. So even though I was not producing much milk, I still nursed, and pumped, and fought for it. Layla would get frustrated when there wasn’t enough milk and yet she still wanted the comfort of the boob. So I would nurse her and then offer her a bottle, which she would take almost every time. She would sometimes bite me and I would cry, adding to the sadness and frustration I was already feeling. For two months Chris would look at me like, “why are you doing this to yourself?” and my answer was always the same: “because I don’t feel done.” Rational or not, it’s how I felt.
Don’t get me wrong; there are countless positives to weaning. To name a few:
- No more pumping!!
- Freedom to wear whatever I want – like a dress! Can’t really nurse in a dress!
- Can eat (and drink) what I want. More wine and sushi please.
- More counter space freed up by the pump and all the parts
- A schedule not ruled by when the next feeding is
- Can kick up the exercise and cut back on calories, should I choose to 😉
- Detoxifying products are no longer off limits
- Can pack away my nursing covers, clothes and nursing pads too
- No more stressing over milk supply!
And yet I’m stuck in the sadness of the moment. I know it will pass, but here I am, sitting on my bedroom floor sobbing while none of the above offers me comfort. Getting my body back to myself is a pretty exciting freedom and yet I guess I just didn’t mind sharing it with her that much.
The end of our breastfeeding journey has been gradual. First I stopped pumping. Then I cut out the two daytime feeds and for awhile we just did morning and nighttime, which I have to admit was really nice. I wish my supply would have stayed strong enough to carry on that schedule for awhile longer. Having it end gradually has been nice; gentle you could say. And yet there have been that many more “lasts” to get upset about – the last nighttime feed, the last nurse on the right side, etc.
I have been crying, a lot, but mostly keeping it to myself because it feels so painfully personal and sacred. Plus, I don’t want to feel (or be looked at as) overdramatic as I explain that what I am feeling is grief.
The sadness reminds me of the baby blues I felt after the girls were born. It feels so real and so deep and yet it can seem irrational and hard to put into words. Logically I know how fortunate I am to have breastfed my child for 10 months, let alone at all. Rationally I know that I need to pat myself on the back for how far we’ve come. But emotionally I’m heartbroken that we’re not continuing this journey together. There have GOT to be hormones at play here.
Because I knew the end was coming, I spent the last days committing all the little details to memory:
The way her body fits perfectly in the nook of mine
The opening and closing of her fists around my finger
The push and pull of her little hands kneading on my chest like a little kitten
The sweet sounds of her grunts and deep breathing
The way she makes eye contact with me like I’m the most important person in her world
I don’t want to risk forgetting any of it. Well, maybe the biting.
It’s been almost two weeks since I breastfed Layla for the last time and I’m still getting used to it. I’m not as emotionally distraught and yet, I can still be brought to tears thinking about it. I’m starting to see the silver lining though; I was away for work for a few days and was SO grateful to not have to pump. I still cuddle Layla close when I give her the bottle. It helps to see how excited she gets for her “baba,” even making a clicking noise with her mouth when she wants it. I’m relieved that she’s getting everything she needs.
And she seems to be just as in love with me as before so that’s a good thing too.