A Sad Day in Mommydom

Early this morning with the house still quiet, I sat in the sunroom and consciously nursed my baby girl for the last time. I say consciously because when I woke up this morning, I decided that today would be the day that I would officially stop breastfeeding. As I gazed down at my precious Murphy, I thought back to the last six months of our nursing journey.
A few days before Murphy was born, I told a friend that I was more scared of nursing than the epidural, c-section, or surgical recovery that laid ahead. I had a less than pleasant experience attempting to breastfeed Carter, and I was terrified of the immense pain and guilt that I was sure would be a part nursing my newborn. When Murphy was two days old, a nurse in my hospital room asked me if I was enjoying breastfeeding. With hot tears streaming down my face and postpartum hormones raging, I stoically replied, "I hate it." She softly suggested that I give up nursing, but in my mind, that wasn't an option I cared to entertain.

Admiring my new little love 

as she dozed with her tummy nice and full.

A week later, I sat on my back patio with a girlfriend who asked me how nursing was going. I calmly said, "It's going well, but I won't be doing it for long." At that point, each feeding session lasted at least an hour which was quite a challenge given that I often had a two year old climbing on my head while I tried to feed the baby. Additionally, though not as severe as it was with Carter, breastfeeding still hurt. A LOT. I randomly discovered that biting down on popsicles while feeding Murphy helped to relieve the pain, and during the first few weeks after she was born, I easily consumed over 50 popsicles.
At Murphy's two week check-up, I asked the pediatrician her thoughts on how long I should continue nursing. She said, "Do you not like it?" Again, I plainly said, "No." She suggested that I give myself the goal of two months and to take it day by day. When I left her office that day, I did decide that I would try my best to keep it up for two months. Over those two months, I had talks with many girlfriends who offered lots of tips and encouragement. (I learned that the excruciating feeling comparable to lightning shooting through my chest was actually a good thing and meant that I had plenty of milk for baby girl.) Nursing sessions began to last 15-20 minutes as Murphy was able to stay awake longer and became a much more efficient eater.
Those two months came and went, and I actually stopped dreading nursing sessions. It was easy to leave the house with only a diaper in my purse; no need to pack bottles, formula, bibs, etc... Middle of the night feeding was such a breeze, as I could just reach over to Murphy's Moses basket, pick her up, and feed her; no stumbling through the dark house into the kitchen to make a bottle. By the time Murphy turned three months old, not only did I not dread nursing I actually began to enjoy it which is something I honestly never thought could have happened.
As time continued to pass, I was mindful of the fact that my hubby and I would be traveling to Jamaica for a dear friend's wedding just after Murphy's six month birthday. In preparation for being away from the babe, I began working with her to take a bottle. She had absolutely no interest in a bottle, so I had to go as far as to conduct what I coined as 'Bottle Boot Camp' which entailed me leaving her with a sitter all day with only the bottle as her food option. She used this opportunity to display her strongest resolve and refused to eat for almost ten hours. Fortunately, on the first day of our trip, she finally conceded and began to drink both breast milk and formula from bottles in my absence.

Happy with my Hubby at the rehearsal dinner

in Jamaica... between pumpings!

During the trip, I carried both a double electric pump and a manual hand pump with me on the plane. I pumped in airport bathrooms, airplane bathrooms, our fancy schmancy villa, and a random room at the wedding reception. I pumped. And pumped. And pumped; all in an effort to maintain my milk supply so that I could seamlessly continue nursing when I returned home. Despite my best efforts, my milk supply dropped. And dropped. And dropped. By the Monday night when we returned to Denver, I was scarcely able to pump 1/2 an ounce of breastmilk.

When Murphy girl woke up on Tuesday morning, I went upstairs to get her up and feed her. I was so thrilled at how she immediately turned to me to nurse her, despite the fact that I had been gone for five days. However, she only nursed for a couple minutes and then began to cry. Reluctant and sad, I walked downstairs, made her a bottle of formula, and watched as she gulped down seven ounces. Yesterday was a tough day; I nearly burst into tears just selecting which formula I should buy at Costco, and I did cry when my husband fed her a bottle at bedtime. This was the first night, ever, that I had not nursed her before laying her down for the night.
So, this is why I made a conscious decision this morning to nurse Murphy one last time today. I wanted to feel like I was making this choice, rather than having my body make it for me. Of course, I was only able to feed her for about five minutes, but I used that time to deliberately enjoy the experience. I whispered to my sweet angel how much I had loved our special bonding time, and that I would so greatly miss it. I told her that it was my love for her that lead me to push few those first few difficult months, and I thanked her for helping me to realize my own strength.

Murphy Girl today...

her sweet eyes are my comfort.