Monday, December 19 (which was my EDD two years ago!) was my first day at work in two years without a breastpump. It was odd. Over the weekend I decided to pack it up for good (or at least until we start working on Offspring v2.0) since my body has stopped responding well to the pump and my production has dropped to less than three ounces take-home milk per day. I had a love-hate relationship with that pump. In the early days I virtually measured my abilities as a working mother by how many ounces I brought home. Less than twelve ounces back then led to severe self-worth issues. Twelve ounces now would be a freaking miracle!
But, I made it. When I started, I figured I'd give up at a year like everyone else I knew. But then a year came, and I was still making good milk. And it was winter. I just kept going because that's what I knew the little guy needed. I hated that I missed out on good sunlight during the spring and summer, but loved that he was getting my absolute best every day. I hated how uncomfortable my pump was. But the milk kept coming and coming!
I sit here now and look back at the hours logged with that small yellow device perched upon my lap as I ate lunches, read books, read articles online, and wrote letters to my son. I know it's a little thing, and at times I hated it, but damn am I ever proud of myself for keeping at it for so long. I did something that everyone told me couldn't be done. And I did that thing for a very long time, openly and honestly. Educating and sharing along the way in hopes that other mothers will have the confidence and support they need to do this, too.
So, Saturday night as I packed away that pump for the last time, I found myself weeping a little. That pump was ugly and uncomfortable, but it was a huge part of my life and my early mothering. I should have the darned thing bronzed or something!
But, I made it. When I started, I figured I'd give up at a year like everyone else I knew. But then a year came, and I was still making good milk. And it was winter. I just kept going because that's what I knew the little guy needed. I hated that I missed out on good sunlight during the spring and summer, but loved that he was getting my absolute best every day. I hated how uncomfortable my pump was. But the milk kept coming and coming!
I sit here now and look back at the hours logged with that small yellow device perched upon my lap as I ate lunches, read books, read articles online, and wrote letters to my son. I know it's a little thing, and at times I hated it, but damn am I ever proud of myself for keeping at it for so long. I did something that everyone told me couldn't be done. And I did that thing for a very long time, openly and honestly. Educating and sharing along the way in hopes that other mothers will have the confidence and support they need to do this, too.
So, Saturday night as I packed away that pump for the last time, I found myself weeping a little. That pump was ugly and uncomfortable, but it was a huge part of my life and my early mothering. I should have the darned thing bronzed or something!
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