Bye-bye breast pump.

One hundred and eighty-two days.

I have been able to pump and provide my son with breast milk for the last one hundred and eighty-two days. It has not come without its challenges, but now that I have reached the point where my milk supply is diminishing, I find myself struggling to let go and turn the pump off.

I started pumping when Pax was three weeks old. I desperately wanted to breast feed him, but it just didn’t work for us. So instead, I pumped. And even then, I’ve never been able to produce enough for breast milk to be his sole source of nutrients. For the last few weeks, I’ve been lucky to pump even an ounce every few hours. So, I’ve begun weaning off pumping, only doing so twice a day now.

Part of me wants to jump for joy. Because let’s be honest. Pumping is ANNOYING. It’s time consuming and it’s sticky. I’m so ready to be done with the days of sore boobs and signs on doors saying “do not enter”. I’m tired of lugging around that bulky black bag everywhere I go and making sure I have fresh batteries in case I can’t get to an outlet. And I’m over feeling like a failure every time I see the amount of milk in the bottle when I’m done.

But then there’s another small part of me that wants to hold onto that hideous bag as tightly as humanly possible. A part of me that wants to scream “don’t do it!”. A part of me that wants to weep at the thought of giving up the opportunity to provide my baby with something I created for him. A part of me that wants to just go pick up my son and hold him close to my chest and tell him “I’m sorry” over and over again.

I completely believe that fed is best. My husband has been a huge comfort and support to me and praises me for being able to provide my baby with breast milk for this long. I know I am blessed that I was even able to provide him with any. But it hurts me to my core to move on from giving my son breast milk. And I find myself desperately trying to pump and squeeze out every last ounce, just in case there’s a little more.

Even though we didn’t experience the bond of breast feeding, I was comforted by the fact that I was still giving him something. Something only I could give him.

I carried him for nine months. I felt him move and kick and grow inside of me. I was sliced open to bring him into this world. I have given him food that was created just for him. And now, it feels like there’s nothing more physically I can create and give him. And that kills me. I can and I will give him all of the kisses and hugs and tickles and endless I love you’s. But there’s just something about physically creating and making something for him that no one else can, that brings me such joy.

I know that everything has to have an end. I know there will come a day when my son just doesn’t need me as much as he does now. In the grand scheme of things, letting go of pumping is a tiny sacrifice to make. And quite honestly, I doubt Pax will ever notice. He just gets excited every time he sees a bottle (the kid LOVES to eat).

I think part of what makes it so difficult to move on, is the daily bombardment of tips and tricks for how to mother “the right way” and “how to increase your milk supply” and “how and why you should breast feed for the first year”. The mothering society can be so quick to judge and critique every move a mommy makes.

But unfortunately, I think the harshest mom critiques out there are the ones we create of ourselves.

We constantly compare our abilities and routines and what our breasts can do, to each other and want to crawl into our baby’s cribs and hide when we don’t measure up. Well if that’s a requirement of the motherhood club, I don’t wanna be a member.

Deciding to give up pumping needs to be MY CHOICE. Deciding to move on and just feed Pax formula (and now solids!) should not be something that makes me wonder what other moms will think of me. I don’t think there is anything wrong with feeling sad that this part of motherhood is over. Motherhood is a journey with dozens of firsts and lasts paved along the way. Each one will bring its own source of joy and sadness and that’s just something I have to prepare for.

So I guess the only other thing left to do is turn off the pump, zip up the bag, and be proud of making it one hundred and eighty-two days.

*I do not own rights to the photo used in this post. The photo was retrieved from Google*

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