Today is Friday, August 1st, Flynn is 6 months old and I'm usuing my last milk storage bag. For someone with sporadic, selective OCD these are several very rounded out circumstances that will herald the end of my time with nursing.
If you've read almost any other post I've written in the past 6 months you know how much of a struggle nursing has been for us. We have dealt with everything from latching woes developing into latching preferences escalating to latching insistence, lip and tongue ties that may or may not have truly impacted latching but probably needed to be corrected anyway, not getting meal timing right, fighting with additional and unwelcome but necessary equipment, forever fighting to try to maintain as much of my limited and declining milk supply, needing to supplement with formula to make up for my limited production, strong disinterest in using (re: violent ripping off of) the cover when nursing in public, etc. My goal for several weeks has been to try to nurse/pump until Flynn was 6 months old then see how long I could continue after that. Sadly my production has dropped enough that I'm surprised I made it this long and given the above mentioned events coinciding on one day I feel I have received a sign telling me that today will be the last day I need to bring my electric pump to work. When it goes home with me for it's weekly deep cleaning it will be packed away until we (hopefully) need it again in the future.
This is very sad for me, I have found that I really love nursing Flynn. Our moments together bring me comfort, contentment and peace that just aren't as intense when I feed him with a bottle. We will still have those bonding moments, but they will be different. Even just the thought of it for the past couple of weeks has pushed me over the edge into tears. Mentally, emotionally I am not ready for this part of our mother/child relationship to be over but (as I've gone from pumping 6-7 oz to 1-2 oz, hardly enough to mix up a batch of cereal, much less come close to supplementing the 8 oz he drinks in a single sitting) my body is calling the shots and I can't change it.
Because I'm stubborn like that I will continue to offer a snack first thing in the morning, when I get home from work and/or right before bed time, knowing the evening option will need to always be supplemented with a bottle. Luckily the morning snack before I go to work is enough to satisfy him until he wakes up for the day, though who knows how much longer even that will last.
I can't help the list of What Ifs that come to mind; what if I hadn't manhandled myself into a completely ridiculous allergic reaction that landed me in ICU? What if I'd had thought to ask for a pump so much sooner than I did? What if I'd managed to get to a La Leche league meeting for some pointers? What if I hadn't had to go back to work so I could have nursed instead of pumped? What if I'd done better sooner about drinking more fluid? What if I'd started supplementing home therapies for boosting my supply right in the beginning? What if I'd tried more of them?
But none of those things can be changed now and even if they could there's nothing to say they would have made a difference. Maybe my supply is what it is and we'd be in this exact place even without all of those other influences. Maybe our next child will be a hellion (Flynn is darn near perfect except for this issue) but nursing will be a breeze or maybe I won't be able to nurse at all. We hope time will tell if we are lucky enough to have another baby.
As for right now I am going to try to soak up every second of the time I have left to nurse Flynn; the way he absently pats my shoulder, reaches for and holds onto my finger, gently kicks and drags his feet down my other shoulder and arm, how sudden noises like clearing my throat, sneezing, hiccuping, coughing, talking and/or anyone located within a 5 block radius doing any of those things would startle him to stop eating, stare at me with wide-eyed surprise, eyebrows lifted nearly to his peach fuzz line (there isn't enough yet to call it hair), then break into a grin so big it takes up half of his face. Part of me would be exasperated at his nosy-ness and if we were in a hurry I'd wish he would just focus and get on with the eating (especially when his violent head-whipping to look around at whatever the noise was that disturbed him resulted in ripping off the nipple shield half-filled with milk, spilling it everywhere and NOT into his mouth which would trigger my production-sensitive mind to lament the loss of any of that more-precious-than-gold liquid). How usually, but almost always in the morning, he would get so excited with the routine that meant food was coming he would fling out both arms, hands splayed open, eyes wide and practically hissing in eager anticipation of being fed then a hearty full-body sigh as if to say 'finally, woman! I've been waiting forever!' even if had only been a few seconds. The feel of stroking is silky soft head, cheek, hands and back while he lay still and peaceful in my lap, his eyes half-lidded in contentment.
I am thankful I've been able to nurse him as much as I've managed and I wouldn't trade it for anything, even with all of the challenges involved. We may end up saving some time by not fighting the breast-feeding equipment battle and going straight for the bottle and solids, but I'm sad.
In an effort to counter my feelings of loss I'm trying to focus on how that little bit of time saved can be transferred to more time to play and practice skills like rolling over, sitting up and getting ready to try different directions of movement. There are plenty of things to be happy about (how absolutely wonderful and happy go-lucky Flynn is, and how proud I am of how much he has developed and grown already) and I am glad for them. I'll be eager to experience what he has in store for us next and will fondly remember the special bonding we got to share, even if sometimes wishing we could have had more might also make me cry a little.
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