And We’re Done

A few months ago I would have told you that I couldn’t wait until Reese was fully transitioned to milk and I could stop breastfeeding. Dragging my pump to and from work each day, leaking, engorgement, the anxiety of wondering if I would produce enough milk for Reese to have while I was at work, staying up late to pump, waking up early to pump, nursing pads, nursing bras, sterilizing, washing, forgetting my pump at home and having to leave work early (and in some cases making Andrew drive it in to me), clogged milk ducts, the list goes on. I was anxious to kiss all of these things goodbye, to wear a normal bra again and to be free of the reoccurring fear that someone would somehow open my locked office door while I was pumping and see me, shirt lifted, looking ridic.

Now that the time is here, these feelings have changed a little and I find myself experiencing the twinge of sadness that I have heard mothers can feel when baby stops nursing.

It turns out that it is the moments that nursing brought us that I will miss the most; stealing Reese away from a party to feed her in the quiet of an upstairs bedroom, or her first meal of the day in the early morning light of her nursery.

After eleven months of breastfeeding, Reese is taking to whole milk like a champ and doesn’t seem all that phased by the weaning process. I had anticipated a struggle from her; many tears, sleepless nights etc., but she has moved effortlessly into the next phase of babyhood while I am left wishing she would stay in this moment just a little longer.

But when I’m thinking wistfully of the moments I’ll miss with my girl, I remind myself that I’ll never again have to awkwardly leave someone’s office mid-sentence because my boob is leaking through my dress, or remove a nursing pad that staggering amounts of people  failed to mention was stuck to my back  all day long.

These moments I can do without.

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