Well, it's pretty much official, give or take a feeding here and there: this mom-bod is closed. Finished. Done with bearing/sustaining life beyond my own. For all intents and purposes, it's a bittersweet reality, but I'm definitely feeling the "bitter" more than the "sweet" right now.
After my daughter was conceived, the hubs and I had decided we wouldn't be having anymore kids after her, for multiple reasons. First, the cost of kids these days is significant, and we certainly didn't favor the idea of struggling financially, even more so than we theoretically would with two kids. Second, we waited until our 30s to even start trying to have kids; we old. And lastly, staying pregnant proved to be difficult for me; over the course of six years, I had five miscarriages and the two healthy pregnancies. It just didn't make sense (for us) to be trying for any more kids, since the chances of a successful pregnancy on the "first try" weren't really in our favor. The toll that pregnancy loss takes on one's mental and emotional well-being is a heavy one, and one that I didn't want to chance bearing again.
And so before my second kid was born via C-section, when the doctor asked one more time to make sure that I still wanted my tubes removed during the surgery, I briefly joked that I wasn't sure but then confirmed that yes, we weren't planning for any more kids and to cut those things right out. But despite our resolute decision to be finished having kids, I mourned that "loss" for weeks, maybe even months after. Deep down, I knew it was the right decision for me, for all the reasons mentioned earlier. But there was also sadness in knowing that I would never again hold another life inside me, and it took awhile, much longer than I had anticipated, to process that finality.
Maybe every mom experiences this, but I'm feeling like my second kid is hitting all the milestones and benchmarks way quicker and earlier than my first kid. And thus, with breastfeeding, at 9 months old she has essentially indicated she's finished (I stopped nursing the first kid at 11 months). Nursing her is no longer a go-to, and really hasn't been for a couple of months now. She will occasionally nurse when she wakes up in the middle of the night, but that's about it; probably more for comfort than anything. I quit pumping when she was around 8 months, since the small yield wasn't worth the effort anymore. As soon as she started solid foods around 6 months, ol' girl was hooked. I swear she swatted away the breast in the AM in favor of pancakes. Luckily, I built up a decent stash, so she's still exclusively drinking breastmilk. I'm hoping that stash will take her to a year old when she can start cow's milk, but the way her appetite is climbing, I doubt it. (Update: my stash is almost gone, so looks like she'll be on formula for at least a month or so, which is obviously fine.)
When I realized one night recently that my daughter was pretty much done breastfeeding, it brought back all those feelings of sadness and grief that I felt when I had my tubes taken out. Despite the few inconveniences of it, I had a wonderful experience breastfeeding both my kids. I was very lucky that both they and I picked it up quickly and easily, and other than the occasional clogged duct here and there, it was extremely positive and fulfilling for all of us. As I laid in bed with my husband, I got emotional and cried as I discussed how this particular chapter of my baby's life was ending, as was my own. And even though I knew the day would come eventually, I just wasn't ready yet. Even as I type this, a month after starting the original post, I still don't feel ready to let it go. Just today, I attempted to breastfeed her in order to get her to settle down for her nap. She willingly started to nurse and then a few seconds later, started to slowly bite down on my nipple while starting to grin, knowing that she wasn't supposed to be doing it. After a couple of warning scolds, she just started laughing, the desire to nurse gone and now wanting to play and be silly. It's the first time I've offered breastfeeding to her in almost a week, and I mostly did it just to see if she would actually nurse. It would seem that she truly is finished, and I have a lot of feelings about it.
I feel sad that my breastfeeding journey is over. I will deeply miss the closeness it forged between me and my babies. It was something that was exclusively just us--mother and child. I also feel proud that my body was able to adequately provide food for my babies for as long as they needed it, despite the fact that my previous pregnancy losses had me feeling like my body had failed me. At the risk of sounding cheesy, it truly was an honor to be able to have breastfed both my kids with relative ease, and the joy it brought me will not be soon forgotten. And finally, I feel fucking ECSTATIC over the fact that I never have to wash breast pump parts EVER AGAIN.
