Sunday marked the end of our breastfeeding journey. You know what the weird thing is? I had a brief moment of sadness.
Sure I’ve hated every last minute of pumping: The stress that accompanies milk supply issues, taking three fenugreek pills three times a day, having to excuse myself from fun social situations to sit alone in a room with a pump. But at the end of the day, my baby girl needed that milk and depended on me to make it for her. And I couldn’t help but feel important.
As silly as it seems, when Gwyneth finally gave into the whole milk (by the way we wound up mixing it with the breast milk and within days she was weaned) I couldn’t help but feel mixed emotions. Joyful that the pumping is over but a little sad that as disconnected as it may be, we’re not going to have that connection of breast milk.
With that being said it was a fleeting moment of sadness that has already dissipated as I pack away the pump supplies and return the rental pump. It’s really hard not to pull an Office Space beating of the old pump, but I digress. We made it to one year and 16 days and I can bookmark it as an experience I’ll never forget. Neither will anyone who actually got the experience of witnessing me pumping or everyone who's heard me whine and talk about "pumping." I'm glad that won't be a part of my everyday vocabulary any longer and I'm sure our family and friends are too.