Before I had even read the actual blog, I immediately said to myself — boy, I wish I had thought of that. But rather than trying to think of something equally as clever, I am just going to send you to her blog, which says it all for me.
As for me and my breast pump … our life together has officially come to an end.
I pumped from morning until night and in the middle of the night until they were four months old. They both latched, and I breastfed both of them as much as I could, though I never trusted they were getting all the required ounces. I was exhausted. I was drained, literally and figuratively, but I was determined to give them all I could of me for as long as I could give it. As much as I dreaded pumping (especially when it was every two to three hours of pumping 50+ ounces of breast milk per day), you would have thought I would be thrilled to say my final goodnight to the breast pump. I wasn’t. In fact, as the inevitable started to happen, I began pumping more often in hopes of resurrecting my supply. My girls were not fooled.
My mind was saying I was ready, but my heart was not.
When I wrote this letter to the boys recently, I said it really did not matter in the end who was breast fed and who was bottle fed and who was this and who was that. It doesn’t. A lot of the things we do for our babies in their first year of life, we’re doing for ourselves. We believe we should be giving the very best to our babies — and the definition of all that entails is different for each of us. We are laying the groundwork for their health, helping them explore their world and creating a bond we hope will last a lifetime. What is most important in the construction and the steps to get there are different for each of us. Sometimes I think we all lose sight of that.
I was not breast fed. I was not even formula fed because my Mom thought it smelled funny. She gave me cow’s milk. To this day I drink a big glass of milk with at least one meal per day — and it was about the only protein I could get down consistently during pregnancy. Every body is different, I suppose.
I know the Dumplings will not remember what was in their bottle, but as the ounces dwindled I felt that one connection to them slowly slipping away. I too, cried in the shower — which is really best place to have such a cry.
I am grateful I was able to provide their nourishment for as long as I did. In the words of our pediatrician, “Don’t worry about it.” So, yes, Goodnight, Breast Pump.
If you happen upon this blog as you find yourself saying adieu to your breast pump or breastfeeding, just remember, the only person who is really going to remember all of this is you. You’re doing what is best for your baby. Thank yourself and your girls and begin enjoying the next phase of their miraculous growth. And if breastfeeding was not in your cards, again, in the words of our pediatrician, “Don’t worry about it.”
Now we are moving on to the beginning stages of crawling. And eating textures. They can’t get enough chicken n’ dumplings, literally. It’s their favorite meal.
Wouldn’t it be a damn shame if it wasn’t?
We’ve also started our own puppet theater. Our first character is “green frog” sent to them by Grandpa Roy, which he purchased from this lovely Etsy store, Minorca. Green Frog sings rousing renditions of I’d Like to Visit the Moon, It’s Not Easy Being Green and Ring of Fire.
Coming up next … Nashville. Oh, Baby, the Places You’ll Go!