My last day of nursing was about five days ago. The baby was being fussy before a nap, and I thought I'd try nursing him to calm him down. I put him in position, pulled out my boob and he latched on. After about 4 seconds of sucking, he pulled off and gave me this look that said "Uh, what's going on here?" It was like he was confused as to why I offered him my boob instead of a sippy cup or something. I tried again, and he latched again, but then he pulled off and gave me the same look. It honestly felt like he was trying to tell me that he's a big boy now and doesn't need to breastfeed anymore. Ok, I can take a hint. I bid farewell to breastfeeding after that. Do I miss it? A little. Am I happy to not have to worry about engorged breasts and planning outings around nursing and pumping? Definitely. Am I excited to get my boobs back in fighting shape? Hell yes. It was a great run and sometimes challenging, but I'm just thankful I was able to breastfeed at all, for as long as I did.
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This morning started off as usual. Baby wakes up, I go into his room, turn off all his machines (humidifier, sound machine and space heater), laugh and play with him through his crib slats for a minute and then change his diaper. Typically after all that is done, I will nurse him. This morning, I didn't. It didn't even cross my mind. After his diaper change, I put him on the floor and we played for a bit before he scuttled off into the hallway towards our room, where I let him into the bathroom to interrupt Dad's shower to say good morning. In fact, I didn't even offer the opportunity to nurse until the hubs was getting ready to walk out the door to go to work.
My milk supply is low. As low as it's ever been. My boy eats cheese and Ritz crackers and pancakes, in addition to his baby food, at meal times. My breast milk is no longer the star of the show. I am at the point where I still produce milk, but it's not enough to even make me feel engorged when I've gone a full night without expressing milk.
I almost decided that maybe today was the day that I just stopped nursing, even though Remy is a month shy of his first birthday. My absent-mindedness with his morning nursing session seemed like a sign. Actually, the fact that Remy didn't whine out of hunger seemed like the universe telling me that today was the day to stop nursing. To holster and reclaim my boobs. To fully accept that Remy no longer exclusively depends on breast milk to nourish his body.
I couldn't do it. I don't want to do it. I mean I do want to. But I don't. Ugh.
This should be a no-brainer, right? Ever since my kid was born, I've been secretly lamenting the fact that my boobs are OC (outta control) since I breast feed. Look, they sit about two feet further down on my chest than pre-baby. They're flat and floppy and can contort every which way. They lay on my chest like deflated balloons. They are not the perky girls they used to be. So in theory, I should be thrilled about the end of breast feeding, because hopefully that will mean my boobs will come back up and join the rest of my chest where they used to sit so nicely. Not to mention I'd finally be free from the dreaded pumping sessions that have become more of a nuisance than what they're worth.
But I couldn't do it. I'm not ready to let it go yet.
The one thing that I had with my baby, just me and no one else, was breastfeeding (not to mention the infinite health benefits that come with it). In stopping breastfeeding, I am physically (and mentally) acknowledging that my baby is growing up and moving on to bigger and better things and no longer needs only me. (Cue me sobbing into my wine glass)
I'm projecting my insecurities and fears, I know. I have become that mom that I used to mock and scoff at and insist I would never be like. Well, I am her now. I am the mom you will roll your eyes at because I'm worried about EVERYTHING. I'm the mom that knows sleep training is beneficial for everyone but can't stand to hear her baby cry for more than 25 seconds so I screw it up.
I'm not ready.
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