From the beginning, I planned to breastfeed for "as long as I could", with the thought that "as long as I could" may not be very long- my CF doctors were concerned about me losing too much weight, and warned that I may have to quit if maintaining an ideal weight became too difficult. I did lose a good bit of weight, but I remained in their "green zone" so I was allowed to continue.
So months went on and we kept going. Then I thought, "I don't want to breastfeed when he has teeth!" Well, tooth 1 and 2, and eventually 3, 4, and 5 arrived, and, aside from a frustrated "I want it now!" nip or two, I didn't even notice the teeth.
Then I started work and I wasn't sure just how long I could "keep up" while pumping more than half of his feedings. I also wasn't sure if my schedule would truly allow me to hide away for 20 minutes, twice a day. But not only did my schedule allow it, but I work at an International Center where the view on breastfeeding isn't as "American." Most of the women I work with applauded me for continuing and told me how they were breastfed until they were 2, or how they breastfed their own children until they were 3 or 4.
And that's when I went "eek!" I know it's the "American" in me, but I knew I didn't want to be that mom. I didn't want to be the one who has the toddler run up and lift her shirt. Or the one with a 3 year old who wakes up and asks for "Mama milk". I didn't want to be the mom who takes her 5 year old to kindergarten registration, child in lap getting a quick drink. I started to worry that I was just going to "keep going and going", as I had been doing all along, because it was comfortable.
I planned to continue until 12 months. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends breast milk until 2 years! But I knew at least 1 year was a good start. But... well... I don't really know, and I guess that's what I feel guilty about... and I suppose I don't have to explain myself. But as I fight with formula clumps in bottles, having to pack bottles for outings, having to clean bottles, and as I pine for those moments of bonding, I wonder if I made the right decision.
The thing is, I don't have to have an excuse. I know that the timing was right for both Drew and for me. I know that he got the "best" for a full 10 months, but I also know that formula isn't the "worst". In fact he's dropped percentiles in his weight the last couple of doctor's visits, so perhaps it was time to provide something a little more consistent.
I saw a post on Facebook asking moms how they would rate their breastfeeding experience, from 0 being very easy to 10 being very difficult. I tried to write a response. My initial thoughts were "a zero! It was way easy!" but as I thought about it I kept remembering "well, there was that first week.... and those couple weeks when he was teething.... and the period where my let-down was slow... and all those times I worried he wasn't getting enough... and all that work pumping..." The truth is, I would do it again and again and again, but it isn't easy. It's a commitment, especially if you have to return to work. I'm glad I did it, I miss it tremendously, but parts of me are glad it's done.
What I don't miss? I don't miss worrying if he ate enough. I don't miss worrying if I'm producing enough. I don't miss pumping more times than he actually ate so I could ensure I was keeping up. I don't miss the dang pump and cleaning the breast shields time and time again. I don't miss Drew's frustration of trying to "get things going", then my frustration when he did get it going only to pop off because he was "over it" (as I scrambled to find a cloth). I don't miss having to find places to "hide" to feed him.
And so... that's where we are. I feel guilty but relieved. I'm happy but sad. And that's the end.
