The tissues in the background of this picture are not filled with my tears.
They could be filled with my tears because Nate is my last baby and because we have had such a sweet breastfeeding time, and because it’s time to wean him. But the liquid coming out of my face has not been in the form of tears. It’s been in the form of snot.
Sorry.
The snot and the chronic Epstein-Barr that’s running havoc on my health have made it necessary for me to take all kinds of vitamin supplements. And sleep more. And to hoard all my nutrition for my own bargain-basement immune system.
All this to say it’s time for the next step for Nate.
Bottles.
Which makes me unbelievably sad.
Would you indulge me a quick recap of what I’m saying goodbye to when I say goodbye to breastfeeding?
Thanks.
I only have to think about the first time Nate latched on in the hospital (so confident!), and I get misty-eyed. How he nursed so strong and so sure just about every three hours since July–none of this pulling off to scream or cry like certain siblings. How he nursed through the winter when it was cold and we had to snuggle for warmth. And hot, like the days in August on the beach, when we both sweated.
How we both persevered through my five-day bout with mastitis. How we both made it through the three days apart when I went to Vegas with M. Nate survived on frozen breast milk. And I survived with my pump.
How we both persevered through my first bout with Epstein-Barr, and I was too sick to do more than roll over so he could eat. Or through my book deadline… when his string of caretakers who would hold him off until I could get to him and we would both find relief.
If you’ll still reading, you’re really indulging me now. So, why not go on to reminisce about the other three babies who have all graduated to Capri Suns and Lunchables and chocolate mustaches?
M and I took a breastfeeding class with Catie–and yet, after six months she never enjoyed breastfeeding like our Nay Nay.
Oh, and breastfeeding the twins…with one latched on and the other howling to eat.
Setting my alarm to pump so I could deliver milk to the NICU.
How they would kick each other when they nursed together.
By the time I finished feeding them it was time to start again.
I could write this all night, but no one will be that indulgent.
Besides I have a plane to catch in the morning.
And a baby to nurse tonight.
One last time.
