From the beginning I knew there was an end, I just did not anticipate the end would come so soon.
And maybe had I known, this transition wouldn't be so painful.
Maybe.
Breastfeeding is no picnic, at least not for mom. It involves sitting down (or sometimes standing) every two hours and emptying yourself for a tiny human. It means chapped nipples, milk stains all over my clothes, gigantic calcium pills, and dirty looks from people because I have the audacity to feed my child in public and not stuff her under a blanket to do so.
Breastfeeding is hard and requires a lot of work. I could spend up to six hours a day feeding Junia, that is literally a full-time job. No pay. No vacation days. No nights or weekends off.
Yet all these challenges seem to fade when seen in the light of the beauty of breastfeeding. Being able to produce and provide the exact nutrition my baby needs is a special thing. It's forty hours of work, but it's also forty hours of bonding with my baby. Some of my most cherished moments in her first few months were those late night feedings. Sitting in bed at two in the morning, completely exhausted, staring at her sweet face as she moves in and out of sleep almost in rhythm with her sucking and swallowing. Both of us feeling deeply happy and perfectly secure.
Breastfeeding is hard, but it's beautiful.
I had a plan to breastfeed for at least six months, but it seems as if that plan is unexpectedly being cut short by nearly two. Going back to an inconsistent work schedule for a job not conducive to pumping, caused my milk supply to rapidly dwindle. My body lost all sense of rhythm and could not keep up with Junia's demand. So little by little we began to supplement with formula, and in a blink of an eye, I am down to one measly breastfeeding a day that cannot even provide a full meal.
Now as I sit with her at two in the morning holding a bottle, I cry. Mourning the end of breastfeeding. Every night I resolve to work really hard to bring my supply back up, and every morning that dream is shattered by the cold reality of sunlight.
I'm going back to school. It is much easier to bottle feed in public. The breast pump never really worked for me. Junia is already eating solids. Is it really worth the hours of labor necessary to build up my milk supply for two months so that I might somehow feel like a qualified mother?
I am learning how to peacefully make this transition without feeling guilt or shame. There is very little grace for moms today, and I seem to always fall short of the idealistic picture of the all-natural, feminist mom who somehow has time to breastfeed, work full-time, and shower.
Just because I am moving away from breastfeeding does not mean I don't love Junia. She still giggles and plays, meets her developmental milestones, and has entirely captured my heart. She doesn't cry when I give her the bottle instead of my breast, she cries when I am not close by or paying attention. She knows I am her mom, the one who grew and carried her, the one who gave so much of myself so that she might have life, and she knows I love her.
Now, I feel peace in saying goodbye to breastfeeding. It was a special season, one I am truly grateful for, but as always, life moves at its own pace. For each mom this journey will look different, whether she bottle feeds from the beginning or breastfeeds well into toddler years. We hold life with an open had: being willing to let our plans blow away if they need to be replaced by another. This journey has taught me to seek the joy in all the hardships that come with motherhood, and to cherish them deeply.
Because one day she'll grow up.
