Last week something happened, and I'm more sad than I actually thought I would be. I knew this day was coming but I didn't know I would react in this manner.
I pumped and got nothing. Like, my milk is all gone. I thought my pump wasn't working at first, but it was working fine.
I didn't cry immediately. In fact, I tried again at lunch. I took nine fenugreek. I chugged my mother's milk tea. I thought about Liam and looked at his pictures...anything to trigger a let down. But there was nothing there.
And then I cried.
I thought maybe it was a fluke. So I tried again and got 1/4 of an ounce in three pumpings combined. Both boobs. I came home and put my pump down and haven't picked it up since. It needs washed. The 1/4 oz of milk is still in the bottle. It's been a week. I need to do something with it. I just wasn't expecting this.
My husband was comforting- you did the best you could!
My mom was just as comforting- honey it's fine. You almost made it to 6 months!
Almost. But not quite.
I've been around the block with this nursing thing. I never really loved it, but I did it because it was right for Liam. But I wanted to do what was best for him.
I was explaining this to one of my friends- you know, the friend with the boobs like two kegs?- and that night I came home to a porch full of her expressed milk. An entire cooler bag just full of it. Ounces and ounces of breast milk for Liam. She wouldn't let me pay her. She wouldn't let me do anything, except accept the gift.
You hear the phrase- it takes a village to raise a child. And you smile when you hear it, thinking only of the times where someone might watch your child for date night. Or perhaps making a meal for a family when everyone comes down with the simultaneous sinus infection. You think of borrowed sugar to finish cupcakes or a car pool salvation on a day your car won't start. You expect these things, and come to think of them as "All a part of being a mom!"