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?