An End, And Beginning

It's been exactly four weeks since I stopped breastfeeding Eli. I was hoping some distance from the event would give me some shiny conclusion, a pearl of wisdom to share, something meaningful to say.

That hasn't happened, exactly. We stopped and there hasn't been much looking back. Between my participation in National Novel Writing Month during November, which took every spare second I had (and yes, I made my 50,000 word goal and will continue to work on this novel), and Eli's seemingly-daily-increase of energy, well, there hasn't been much time for reflection. What I do have is my experience on that final day.

Here is what I wrote in my journal the day the milk ran dry…


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11/8/10
Today has been an emotional day. First off, it was Eli's final day of breastfeeding. He has been down to one feeding, first thing in the morning, and it is the one feeding he has been resistant to give up so I've been taking my time with him. But today there was nothing left. The boob juice was gone. He sat up and looked at me, confused. When I realized what was happening and what it meant I felt conflicted. Was I really done breastfeeding? I had made it just over a year, a huge accomplishment for me. But was this it?

It was a bittersweet moment. When I look at Eli I know I will miss the connection we've shared for so long, but at the same time I swell with pride when I see what a little man he is becoming, how much he has grown and changed, how he is becoming more independent each day.

The combination of this event, coupled with all these disparate thoughts and feelings, started me off on shaky ground for the day. Barely an hour later we were at my OB's office for our "big ultrasound," where we also opted to find out the sex of the baby. I initially thought girl when I first became pregnant, but then for several weeks had no inkling one way or the other. Then in the last week or two my husband and I had convinced ourselves this babe was a boy.

There was an immediate crotch shot during the ultrasound and I swear I saw some junk floating around in there. The tech didn't say anything but in my head I thought I knew. So it was a rather big shock to hear her announce a couple minutes later: "It's a girl!"

My response? I asked in disbelief, "Really?" Then my eyes filled with tears.

Of course the tech thought I was moved because I was going to have a little girl to buy frilly dresses for and to take doll shopping. She immediately started telling us about taking her daughter to the American Girl doll store. This is not my idea of a good time, by the way.

No, I'm not sure where the tears came from, other than the joy of feeling like I now knew my baby just a little better, felt a greater connection to this little person squirming around in there. Perhaps it was the knowledge that while one connection was ending on this day, another was beginning.

It was strange for me to feel so emotional over this news. The circumstances had been different with Eli. I was going to acupuncture during my first pregnancy and ten weeks in my acupuncturist asked if we were planning on finding out the sex of the baby. I said yes. "Well," she said, "I can tell you right now if you want to know."

Well of course I wanted to know so I found out. No one believed she could know such things, but my husband and I had already suspected we were having a boy, and Cristina only confirmed it. So while we were excited for our "big ultrasound" for Eli, it was really just a safety check, and then a confirmation of something we already knew.

This time around it was a true surprise.

I spent the rest of today wearing a silly grin one minute and then teary-eyed the next. I would look at Eli, imagine him with his baby sister, and feel my heart swell. In many ways, it is probably the best possible day for us to stop breastfeeding, a day when there is other happy news to focus on, to distract us from what could otherwise be a sad and/or traumatic day.

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Four weeks later we all move forward, Eli drinking whole milk like a monster (he loves it, thank goodness). I am thankful for a smooth transition, not one clouded with doubt about whether I did things the right way. Eli never seemed upset that he was no longer breastfeeding, never tugged at me. It's like we both knew: This time is over. It's time to move on.

Mostly, I am thankful that we made it. Breastfeeding for one full year was always my goal and so many times, especially in the early days, it seemed unattainable. By the time we finished it felt second nature, natural, like there couldn't be anything more normal in the entire world. I never thought any of these statements would come out of my mouth (or fingers) so that feels like true progress. It also feels like a wonderful way to move forward in preparation for our next babe, who will have a much more assured mother waiting for her.

This Milk Machine is closed, for a little while ;)

The Hesitant Exit Strategy

Well, here we are nine months later. Clearly, updating this blog on a regular basis has not been my forte. The sad part is that I've written entries in the interim and they are sitting on my computer. That is to come, readers.

Before getting to the past and sharing the struggles and triumphs leading up until this moment, how about a current update?

I am pleased to report that Eli is now eleven months old, and yes, I am still breastfeeding. I have begun to supplement as my milk supply has taken a serious dive in the last two months … this may have something to do with the fact that I am pregnant with our second child(!!!). Yes, there will not be much of a break for me or my boobies before diving into this process all over again.

The amazing thing is that if you only read the first entry I've written, and know nothing else of the time between, you might assume that I still hate breastfeeding. And yes, did I ever have a love-hate relationship with it, for a very long time. There are still moments when I resent it, say, on a Saturday morning when my husband doesn't have to work and sleeps in, and I still schlep out of bed before seven to feed Eli. It's tough to never, ever sleep in on any given morning.

But, when I think about the fact that this part of our time together is coming to an end, and that soon Eli and I won't share this special bond, it makes me very emotional. Part of it is pregnancy hormones. One minute I am insanely happy and the next I could bawl. You know, it's like amped up PMS.

I also have an irrational fear that Eli simply won't need me once I am not his "food source." Of course, he's been eating solids and is transitioning away from nearly all of his jarred baby food now. I am not his main food source, nor have I been for some time. Still, if I'm not supplying any of his food, there is a part of me that feels like anyone could care for him and he wouldn't know the difference. Again, irrational. I know this.

What I'm realizing is this: I didn't think it would be so difficult and emotional to stop breastfeeding. I figured I'd be ticking the days off the calendar by now, waiting for my little man to hit that one-year mark so I could begin real cow's milk and slowly finish weaning him. That's still the plan, though things have been accelerated by my lack of supply and his occasional lack of interest in breastfeeding.

In theory this all sounds simple enough, but like so many other aspects of mothering it is more complicated than it appears. And everything, for me at least, also involves so many different and often conflicting emotions. Eleven months ago, when I was struggling, crying, frustrated, on the brink of giving up, it never occurred to me that one day I may not want to stop breastfeeding.

Now, here we are. I realize I could continue breastfeeding beyond the first year. And were I not pregnant, I may have traveled down that road (though I also never want to breastfeed simply because I am having a hard time letting go, either). As it stands, I would like a break between children, a time to "rest" my body before the demands of breastfeeding begin again. I would like to sleep in on a Saturday morning, perhaps just once, before baby #2 makes his or her appearance. This used to make me feel selfish (another, all-to-frequent emotion that bubbles up), but then I remind myself for the thousandth time that once in awhile I need to take care of myself before taking care of everyone else.

Of course, this is easier said than done.