Breastfeeding's bittersweet end

I'm pretty sure my 14-month-old daughter is a 15-year-old boy in disguise. She is absolutely obsessed with my breasts.

Breasts. Boobies. Tatas. The girls. Second base.

We all call them a variety of names and they seem to help sell a lot of magazines and whatnot, but in reality they serve a single purpose — to feed our young — and the purpose of mine is quickly coming to an end for the second time. I know not every mother is able to successfully breastfeed, and some simply have no desire to nurse, but for us it's been the right choice.

When I was pregnant with our first baby, I had high hopes of being able to breastfeed and went so far as to order my $300 breast pump before talking to my endocrinologist about the thyroid medication I take and if I would be able to breastfeed while taking it. The long and short of that conversation was I could and I did.

Josephine was breastfed for the first six months of her life. I was proud as a first time mom to be able to nourish her for that long considering the numerous weight checks and the talks of formula and the eventual supplementing with formula that led to the end of our breastfeeding relationship. It was sad and heart wrenching, but the only thing that mattered in the end was she was eating and healthy. Despite my efforts, I simply didn't take good enough care of myself to be able to continue feeding her exclusively from me after that point. A word to moms out there who want to and are able to successfully nurse — make sure you eat and stay hydrated. Those are the two things I failed to do. I was ecstatic when the pregnancy weight melted off and my swelling (and boy did I swell) went away, but at what cost?



The more we supplemented, the less milk I produced. The less milk I produced, the more my body went back to normal. We celebrated Josie turning 8 months old with three positive pregnancy tests and nine months or so later, Charlotte joined our family. The breastfeeding journey began again.

I pumped after feedings, ate Clif and Luna bars, oatmeal was the only thing for breakfast for months, fenugreek was added to my daily vitamin regimen and Mother's Milk tea was all I drank. Well, it was the only thing I drank aside from water and the few cups of coffee I allowed myself. If I felt like the girls needed a boost, I had a nice dark beer. We ate a lot of chicken for dinner because of the protein. I did everything I could to make sure the journey this time wouldn't end as quickly as it did with Josie. 

This time, I cried out of joy when we surpassed six months; at eight months, I prayed we could keep going even though solid foods were her newest love. By 10 months, I feared the end was in sight as Charlie started stealing her sister's sippy cups and downing ounce after ounce of cow's milk only to happily drop the cup and wander over to tug at my shirt. At 12 months, she had cut back to nursing only a handful of times a day. And now ... ?

Tonight it has been bittersweet watching my nursling fall asleep snuggled on the couch with her daddy, no longer needing me to fill her belly. I may be a total basket case save for the point in the night when she ends up curled against my chest, tugging at my shirt searching for that milk source in a futile attempt to nurse.

Some day in the near future I figure my not so little Charlie will stop tugging at my shirt. She's going to stop getting frustrated when I tell her there isn't anything left after just a minute or two.

And then we'll start working on potty training ...