And Now We've Cooooommmmeeee....

To the end of the road. And I just can't let go.

No, seriously: and here we are.

Tomorrow morning I will nurse my baby boy for the last time.

Honestly, I think that I am doing pretty well this week: I have cherished each wake-up nurse to the best of my ability, and even though I don't know how much he can understand I have talked LO through them, saying things like "this is your last week of mama milk, buddy, are we going to be ok with that?" He either doesn't understand or couldn't care less: he's much more interested in running to the window and saying full sentences like "There goes the bus!"

Overall, I have an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment in the bond we've managed to create over the last almost 18-months. Or technically, the last 27 months, as I kind of see breastfeeding as an extension of that "part of each other" bond that started as soon as I began carrying that little zygote way back in November of 08.

I hearken back to a conversation my sister and I had when I was 7 months pregnant. "Are you going to breastfeed?" she asked. "I think I'll try to go until at least 6 months if it works out, but it will be hard to make it after I go back to work full-time." Her response with a sneer: "Why would you only go 6 months? You KNOW 12 months is better!" I'm sure she understands now how frustrating it is to get parenting/pregnancy advice from someone who is not even a parent or pregnant herself, but then I just let it go.

I approached breastfeeding as a good part of our bond, but I had watched too many of my friends beat themselves up when they had a low supply or something prevented breastfeeding from working out for them. So my tactic was "I will try my best, and if it doesn't work out, I'm not going to stress about it." Luckily my guy had a great latch from the first time out of the gate, and I didn't have any issues until I had been at work full time for a few months.

As I got into it and really began to enjoy the ease, the bond, the simplicity of the task of breastfeeding my child, I decided that best case scenario would be for him to self-wean around 18 months. And here we are. Two weeks shy of 18 months and he's no longer asking for it and hasn't batted an eye since his last bedtime nurse two months ago. So it's time for my baby love to be my little boy.

::sigh:: Hopefully I won't be a total hot mess after tomorrow's nursing, but even now just thinking about it is making me cry.

And in the End, I Have No Control.

When we last "spoke", I was trying to make the decision as to whether to keep pumping or give up the fight. After pumping so much that last week and having a wonderful week breastfeeding my son (my walking, talking, almost no longer a baby, son), I lugged the monstrous Medela and associated accoutrements, ice packs, and cold bag back to work today.

After an extremely hectic morning that included a new hire that I had no idea was starting today at the door at 9AM, I finally sat down about an hour ago and prepared myself, only to find after sitting half exposed in my freezing office that my pump is broken. This moment could not be any more anticlimactic if I tried. I fumbled around for a few minutes, trying to figure out if the plug or something was just messed up. It may be the A/C adapter, and it may work in my car at lunch. But as of right now, the word is no more full time pumping.

I should be overjoyed. Lord knows I have done nothing but complain about it for the last 6 or so months. Here, in my online mom group, to my husband, family, co-workers. All they have heard is what a drag it is and how I can't wait to be done with it. But now that the choice has been taken away from me, I'm left only with the thought of the impending weekend and my probable inability to nurse my son more than twice a day.

I tried to cherish every moment of nursing over the last nine days, knowing that we would likely be cutting back. But I am a very sentimental, nostalgic person inside, and all I can focus on now is how my baby is not a baby any more. He is now walking 75% of the time, and the crawling is really only to find something to pull up on so that he can walk. No more watching a crawling, naked baby following me down the hall to fold laundry. No more soothing at the breast. No more naps with mommy...he has trained himself well to sleep in a crib in a room on his own. He is growing more independent by the day, and with the countdown to his 1 year birthday at 23 days now, Mama is growing weepier and weepier at the loss of her wee babe.

I thought I got it before, when everyone told me it flies by. But I am only now beginning to understand...

This post was going to be titled "Say Goodbye to my Little Friend"

Because when I made this decision on Monday, today was supposed to be my last day pumping. I was going to go home, throw out all my flanges, and put this monstrous leather bound box with a strap on a very, very high shelf and forget about it. We are 2 days away from the one-month-countdown to birthday, and for the next 9 days I will be by my little guy's side 24-7 (well, except maybe a date with hubby one night) so I decided that I would pump this week just to keep my supply regulated so I can feed him those 9 days.

My supply has steadily decreased over the last 7 months. Working full-time and nursing just don't mesh easily. Am I proud of myself for sticking this out so long? Of course! Am I hoping that my boobs and Jacob's wishes will allow us to still nurse twice a day for the next 6 months or so? Absolutely! But it's so disenheartening to pump only 4 oz a day, and earlier this week I reached the point where it was taking 20 minutes to let down. Not good for the nips in any way, shape, or form. It even hurt to nurse him because I was so sore from pumping.

This combined with the fact that he has taken straight formula bottles a couple of times recently and happily consumed them, when before he would reject a bottle if there were not at least 2 oz of breastmilk mixed in, made the decision a little easier. That and the fact that a guardian angel whose son turns one this weekend sent me two boxes of Similac and only asked me to pay shipping. I even knew it was the right decision at the right time, because instead of feeling guilty as I did a couple of months ago when I considered stopping, I felt nothing but sweet relief. Imagine not having to lug a pump, a cold bag full of ice packs and pump accessories and milk, and my purse to work every day. And home every night. And if we weren't going straight home, I had to carry that dumb bag around everywhere to keep my milk cold.

Well, as usual, my breasts have had a resurgence, causing me to reconsider my grand plans. Every day this week, I have taken home between 6-10 oz, an amount unheard of a month or even two months ago. I just pumped and got 7oz in one sitting. I swear I haven't done that in nearly 5 months. In fact, I only brought two storage containers, and this will fill both, so I have to scrounge around to figure out what to do for storage when I pump this afternoon. I mean, I guess this is great news, because now I should be able to ride out just 3 more weeks when I return to work.

And I can say that my son was primarily breastfed his first year. But you guys know I gave up labels long, long ago. So, I guess we shall see...

Dear Bewbs...

I am only asking for 6 more weeks. 6 more weeks of pumping twice a day at work, 6 more weeks of nursing 4 or more times a day on the weekend (that will be the hardest to let go), and I know you can do it. After that, you only have to work between the hours of 7PM-7AM, and you will get a break the rest of the day. You can be my little vampires and sleep peacefully all day, if you can just hold out and give me at least 6oz a day for 6 more weeks.

Pretty please? I'm just not ready to give up on you yet, but you are making it really tough to love you right now. I appreciate everything you've done, and I know Jacob does, too, but the last 6 months have been tough and at times, fruitless. As much as I am dreading the W-word and the long transtition we will take with that, I am at least ready to admit that 1 year is enough for my full-time nursing attempts. Things would be different if we were home all day, but this working and pumping...I am so, so over it.

Especially when I spend 15 minutes crouched at my desk, typing one-handed, to only get 2 ounces.

We can do a little better than that, right?

I Shouldn't Let it Get to Me

But I do. Sorry honey...I know you read it occasionally.

I love my husband, and he is an amazing father in every way. As J grows older, I am moved to tears almost on a daily basis watching the two of them together. My husband is my son's buddy, that much is obvious. Although he wants Mama when he's sick, hurt, or hungry, Daddy was the first (and for a while, only) one that could get him to laugh.

And Daddy has praised my breastfeeding efforts from the very beginning, letting me know how impressed and appreciative he has always been that I provide our son's food, almost entirely on my own. When J would have a good doctor's appointment, he would beam at me and say "it's all of your good milk that's making him grow so well". And he would turn a blind eye when somewhere around the 1-month mark I became a voracious eater, eating nearly twice the serving size of carbs at dinner that my husband had. He helped me get down breastfeeding in public with a cover, and patiently made a trip across town to the health food store with me to buy supplies for lactation cookies when my supply was dwindling. In short, he has really been my biggest supporter and coach in breastfeeding.

So it shouldn't have hurt my feelings when this conversation occured this morning:

Him "How is your pumping going?"

Me "It's doing OK. Not as much as I used to get, probably about 10-12 oz a day."

Him "And he drinks 20 at daycare?"

Me "Well, about 18 on average."

Him "So, we're probably going to have to start buying formula?"

Me "At some point."

Him "That sucks."

Why this innocent comment has had me feeling bad all day, only my inner drama queen knows. I think I've done pretty well thus far and feel good for surpassing my 6 month goal. Because my family and I are thrifty coupon people, I actually got six 12.9oz sample cans of formula stockpiled before baby's arrival, and had to throw half of the first can out when it expired. The other two cans we've used I've had to scramble to use at the end of the 30 days since I opened it. I've come to terms with supplementation enough by now that the spendthrift took over and I would rather send my son with a higher formula to breastmilk ratio than usual for a few days than waste that formula. I still have 3 1/2 cans left. We have not paid a dime for formula. I figure I'm going through one can a month, which means that he will be over 10 months old when I'm done with the samples. At that point, we very well may be transitioning to more meals and less breastmilk, who knows.

Le sigh. But I still feel a little like a failure because my boobs just can't keep up with my "greedy little tittie monster" (as we so lovingly called him the first month).

Breastfeeding is HARD, Ya'll!

Time for me to confess. I was one of those moms who had it very, very easy at first. I had heard it was hard so many times that I figured I had a 50-50 shot of making it to 3 months. But lo and behold, the Wonder Boy popped out an instant boob-man that seemed to latch within 3 seconds of me holding him sideways near my naked chest. And for the next 3 1/2 months we coasted along on his exclusive diet of mama's milk.

In secret, I was very, very proud of our accomplishment, like it was something I was doing that allowed my body to make milk. Really, all I did was be available any time he wanted to give it a go, and stayed calm and relaxed enough that the milk had no problem flowing. I demurely bowed out of conversations where people talked about how hard breastfeeding was, because honestly, it felt pretty easy for me. I felt sorry for the women I know that tried to breastfeed and were not able to. Overall, I felt pretty proud of myself and my little guy for our "accomplishment".

And then I went back to work. No worries: I had a healthy 60 ounces or so in my chest freezer and I was pumping pretty much what he was eating during my 3 breaks a day. For the first 2 1/2 weeks. Then, all of a sudden he was eating 18 oz, I was pumping 12 oz, and the freezer outlet tripped. Murphy's freaking law, people. Since then, I've been up and down. I've come to terms with supplementing with formula. At first it was only 6 oz, maybe once a week, but as time has passed and work has become more stressful, I am now supplementing at least 3 times a week. Sometimes as much as 2 bottles. I think we're at the point where it's going to be one formula bottle and two breastmilk bottles. Which is ok, but it's still disappointing.

I remember a conversation with my little (childless, opinionated, but well-meaning) sister just before Jacob was born. I said that my first goal for breastfeeding was 3 months, but that I really hoped to go 6. "Why would you only do it for 6 months," she sneered, "when you know a year is better?" Well, the closer I've gotten to six months (SIX months! Just around the corner...) the more I've wanted to continue for a year, or at least until the baby decides he's done.

But it's HARD, ya'll! Sometimes when I pump I only get an ounce. An OUNCE, for nearly 20 minutes of my precious workday. I probably spend nearly two hours of my day pumping and/or cleaning the pump accoutrements. And those times, all I can think of is how much I can't wait to eat chocolate-covered espresso beans and spicy hot food again. Now that he's been exposed to formula and I know it's not radioactive or rotting his brain, I really sometimes think about how nice it would be to stop pumping and only breastfeed when I'm around him. But I'm scared to try that in case it just causes the rest of my supply to quit. And I'm not ready to give up at all when I look down at Jacob and he smiles, like he would never want to drink anything except mommy's milk!

I just need a vote of confidence, I guess. I really want to make it to a year, but it's getting harder and harder to appreciate the benefits in spite of the troubles it gives me!