The end of breastfeeding

My babies are now six months old. The time has passed in a blur of feeding, bouncing, changing diapers. It has not been long since I began to feel as if we were emerging from our small cocoon. Part of this emerging has been letting go of my tight grip on breastfeeding my babies. It was a huge struggle. They did not nurse well, both having tongue and lip ties that needed to be revised. I, having the hormonal issues I do, did not produce well and it took drugs and herbs and pumping to make even enough for one baby. But I did, for a time. We found a rhythm where I fed them on the pillow, then they got a bottle, and it worked. Until it didn't. As happened with Caden, as their appetites and interest in the world grew, their patience at the breast dwindled, and they began to nurse for shorter and shorter times looking around for the bottle. I tried supplementing at the breast with a little tube, nursing them individually, and these things worked for a time, but I didn't have a lot of fight left in me. Having a hungry baby cry at my breast is an awful feeling, and not one I could tolerate. I began to give them bigger and bigger bottles, and offer the breast only occasionally. Through all of this I pumped. I pumped because I hoped it would turn around and I wanted them to have as much breast milk as possible, but I found that time at the pump meant I wasn't able to squeeze in one on one time with my older son, get the bottles washed, or fold the laundry. I really had to look at the health of our family as a unit, and it became clear that breastfeeding could not be the highest priority anymore. Tonight may be my last pump. Jude still nurses in the wee hours and each time I wonder, will this be it? I don't know that I have much milk left for him, now that I have stopped the drugs and herbs, the pumping and frequent nursing. I feel very sad about this chapter ending. Breastfeeding was something I looked forward to, and both times it didn't work out the way I wanted to. Both times I struggled with feelings of failure, frustration, inadequacy.

This is the end of my reproductive journey. I have three beautiful, healthy children. My body did not fail me. It grew and birthed these beautiful beings. I get to mother these incredible children. And yet I resist closing the door. Even here, 42, with my family complete it feels as if there is something I need to do, something I need to prove, some hurdle to leap before I can be free from my years of loss and infertility. But maybe healing doesn't mean being free. Maybe it just means moving forward.