My happy ending...

A year ago yesterday was the day we brought TIH home from the hospital.
Like all new parents, we brought him into the house, happy to be back in our own home, and then, like a freight train, it hit us - what are we supposed to do with this kid?
Pretty quickly we figured it out - feed him, burp him, change him, repeat repeat repeat.
In a future post, I will talk more about those first few weeks when I was the newest of New Moms.
Today I want to talk about that first night.

The night where I was peeling my eyes open though they were ready to slam shut from exhaustion.  The night where I'm asking myself how this kid could possibly need to be fed again or changed again or rocked again.  And the night where I woke up not long after midnight with an aching, heavy feeling in my bra which was suddenly 3-4 sizes too small.

My milk had come in.

I remember having to assemble the breast pump I had no idea how to use (since my nurse's helpful advice was "Um,  you just, like, turn it on and, like, pump!")  I remember not being sure how long I was supposed to do it, but I knew I just needed to to relieve some of the pressure.  I remember being amazed at how quickly it just sort of...happened.


Flash forward 364 days.  The day after TIH's first birthday.  The day that I have decided will be my last day to breast feed him.  We had already cut out all of our feedings except for the last one - his bedtime feeding.  Weaning had been strangely easy.  (I'm trying not to take it personally.)

It was a typical feeding.  I played on my phone and watched an episode of Hoarders while TIH drifted off.  About half way through, I stopped playing with my phone, turned off the TV, and just stared at him for a second.  I gave him a little squeeze.  I told him that even though this part was over, that he was still my little baby and that we would always spend some sort of quality time together.  It was about that point that he unlatched.  For the last time.  And with his eyes still closed and a drowsy little smile playing on his lips, he said, Maaahhhh maaahhhh.

I set him down in his crib.  Took a deep breath.  And walked out.  Feeling proud.  Accomplished.
A year ago, I would have never thought I was going to make it to where I am today.
I successfully breast fed for twelve. whole. months.


Last night, the anniversary of the night we brought TIH home from the hospital, was the first night we attempted the bedtime routine sans boobies.  We did everything exactly the same.  Bath, diaper, lavender lotion, jammies, lullaby - except instead of mommy, there was a cup filled with warm milk.

Wouldn't you know it?  The kid just reached for it.  He settled in, stroked the ear of his new favorite stuffed animal (Sammy the Lamby), and slowly drifted off to sleep.  I cuddled him the same way I would cuddle him when he was nursing.  I rocked him a bit after he was finished with the milk until I felt like he was completely asleep.

And then, I set him down in his crib.  Took a deep breath.  And made my way to the door.  Just before I closed the door behind me, I heard him stir a little bit and turn over on his side.  I walked back to his crib to rub his forehead a little and make sure he was completely asleep.  His eyes were still closed and he had a drowsy little smile.  I went to tiptoe out of the room when I heard him say it - Maaahhhh, maaahhhh.

I took a deep breath.  And walked out.
Twelve. whole. months.

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