There were many aspects of Waverley’s birth and early days that were extremely difficult, yet we were very fortunate breastfeeding was not one of them. With the exception of a few hard lessons that I associate with a normal learning curve, breastfeeding was our solace in an otherwise difficult situation. She latched perfectly, my milk came in early and plentiful, and she thoroughly enjoyed her time nursing. It’s amazing that, given this success, I still grew so tired of it. When she was three months old I could not fathom breastfeeding until she was one year old. It seemed like an eternity away. Breastfeeding seemed all-consuming, both in time and my resources. I made a goal of six months and planned to reassess at that time. With the pain of clogged milk ducts, engorgement, biting, and just general irritation, I could not wait to be done. I was tired of the hassle of pumping every day. I was annoyed at the forethought that getting dressed required. I was sick of being relegated to another room while everyone hung out. I was done being the only person who could soothe a crying baby just by nursing. I was jealous of what Nate was up to while I spent hours feeding her before bed and during midnight wake-up calls. I was tired of planning errands around feeding her and people staring dumbfounded into the car while I sat there with an infant attached to my chest. I was disgusted at the times I had to feed her while sitting on a toilet when there was nowhere else to go. Oh, and I was starving. All the time.

Then, Waverley started eating solid food and the amount of breastfeeding triturated down. Feeding by feeding was taken away. I started to miss it. “Oh she’s upset, so I’ll just feed her” were words I uttered numerous times. All of a sudden, I couldn’t bear quitting. I held on to this precious connection and the super power I possessed to instantly calm, soothe, and nourish my baby. The biting stopped long ago, I quit pumping months prior as well, and feeding her turned into a quick endeavor. It was easy now. I couldn’t let go. I was addicted.

Nate itched to become more involved therefore he began feeding her each night before bed with the frozen reserves. We gradually cut it with cow’s milk to ease the transition, although I’m certain that was more for me than for her. I was down to feeding her before her naps only, which is now only once a day. Our pediatrician encouraged the switch to cow’s milk completely given she was over 12 months old. On one hand, as a healthcare provider, I couldn’t resist his logical explanations and evidence. Yet on the other hand, as a mother, I couldn’t handle stopping. I was afraid of missing the connection, of my super power being taken away, and perhaps even losing a purpose.

Just after Waverley turned 13 months old, I completely stopped. I was prepared for engorgement and leakage yet showed signs of neither. Physically my body accepted the change seamlessly, albeit leaving rather saggy breasts in place. (Sigh.) I realized fears of stopping were unwarranted. Rather than spending my time with Waverley nursing, now we play. I am just as present feeding her a bottle before her nap than when I nursed her. As far as my super power? Well, sometimes a hug from momma is all a babe needs to calm down, and that I can still do.

The end of breastfeeding has been bittersweet. It’s the end of an era. I feel it represents the culmination of her infancy which is of course devastating yet joyful. As for me, I’ve happily retired my ratty nursing tanks, nursing bras, and nursing paraphernalia. It’s time to make room for my return to normalcy, including dresses with absolutely no buttons or zippers in sight.