The End of a Chapter

Last night I nursed Audrey for the very last time.  As I rocked her in her dark room, the tears streamed down my face.  I thought back over the incredible journey of the past thirteen months.  I thought through all of the worry and anxiety that came during the beginning.  I cannot begin to count how many times I asked myself whether she was getting enough milk, whether she was gaining weight, whether my supply was down, and on and on and on.  I remembered the phone calls to the lactation specialists and other nursing moms, begging for advice and guidance.  I remembered the pump and the pump parts and the cleaning of the pump parts.  I remembered being desperate to quit.  Then I remembered how that dislike turned to tolerance...then like...then love.


In my mind, I pictured every place I'd fed her: the hospital, the homes of friends and family, my childhood bedroom, and, of course, the car.  That child has been fed in the parking lots of malls, gas stations, restaurants, stores, and churches all over this state.  I also thought through all of the ways I spent those hundreds of hours.  In the beginning (when she'd make harmonica sounds while she was eating), I read to her and talked to her, trying everything to keep her awake.  As we both got more proficient, I was able to multi-task a little better.  I've checked emails, made phone calls, cooked meals, and eaten meals while simultaneously feeding her.  Of course, there was a lot of staring and hair stroking and praying over her.  Those are the moments I will always cherish.


One of the things I will miss the most is the quiet closeness we were able to steal together every day.  No matter what was going on, I knew that at certain times, she and I would sit down and be able to catch our breath and cling to each other for a little while.  It was just us and no one else mattered.  In those moments, I was her world and she was mine.  It was nutrition and comfort only I could provide.


As I laid her in her crib last night, I was filled with a mix of pride, sadness, and happiness.  We'd made it through literally thousands of nursing sessions.  It was one of the hardest things I've ever accomplished in my life, and certainly the hardest that I've ever had to do for that long.  I'm heartbroken it's over, but I know it was time.  Though the physical pain, sacrifice, and commitment that came with it cannot be fully explained unless you've been there yourself, it was worth it.  Totally, completely, worth it.  Congratulations, Baby Girl.  We made it.