(187) Bittersweet Betrayal...

Today is the first day I will not be pumping or breastfeeding in 8 months. For the last few months, I have been struggling with an ever decreasing milk supply from going back to work, daycare, lack of breast feeding opportunities, pumping, and the depression that has come with it. As I have watched the supply in the freezer slowly dwindle and the amount that I produce, I have experienced so many emotions. I knew this day was coming. I just didn't want it to.

When I first realized that my supply was diminishing, I made the command decision to start mixing Lauren's cereal with formula to save the milk that we had in the freezer for feedings. I can remember the first time I did that. I honestly thought I was poisoning my child. Picture, if you will, baby in highchair, eating her cereal, with a big smile on her face and wanting more, and mommy crying while feeding said baby. It bothered her NONE. Zip. Zilch. Nada. She ate like it was just another day. I, on the other hand, was a slight nutcase. But as I watched her gobble down her slop with vigor and enthusiasm, I knew that she would be fine.

A few weeks after that, I made another command decision to start mixing her breastmilk with formula. I honestly cringed when I had to do this. Mixing it in her cereal was one thing, but putting it in a bottle was completely different. I had these grand notions that I would breast feed her until she was a year and then maybe more. I have come to find out that this can only be done if you are a "cow" or you stay home. It is not feasible when you got back to work, pump instead of BF, and travel a few times away from home.

Can someone send me that memo, which I apparently did not receive?

So here we were again. I started off slow and did a mixture of 1 ounce of F to 4 ounces of BM. Baby likey. I then increased to 2 F: 3 BM. Baby still likey. No ill effects. Tooting increased. As did the quality of her lady burps. Go team! I am now at half and half or 3:2. Still good to go. No rejection. Happy baby. Guilty mommy.

Yes. Guilty mommy. Lost mommy. Rejected mommy.

While I can't fully sympathize with the woman who was not able to breastfeed at all, I do understand that feeling of rejection and betrayal. My body refused to keep supplying my baby with "the best nutrition", even when I did everything I could within my powers to keep that supply going. I breastfed when I could. I pumped. I ate oatmeal. I took supplements. I drank my water. My body still gave out. At least that is what my mind tells me.

Another loss for this mommy.

It's a feeling of losing a part of me... of losing that connection with my daughter. Somewhere in there, I became terrified that if I stopped breast feeding and pumping, the connection with Lauren would be lost and anybody could claim her as their own. As in, I became terrified that someone was waiting for me to stop so they could steal her away. (Brief note: Since the day she was born, I have never felt that Lauren is truly mine. I have been waiting for that other shoe to drop and for her to "disappear". Or for her to make a "mommy connection" with someone else. If you have questions about that, ask me.) Absurd, I know. But this was a VERY REAL feeling I had. It apparently stems from the loss of our first daughter. This grief, if you will, just compounded the depression I was feeling.

After talking to my mom, my husband, and a dear friend, I knew that it would be best to just wean/stop pumping completely. My depression was getting worse every time I pumped and didn't produce the same as hours before. It was not allowing me to be the best mommy and wife I could be. It consumed me. It was slowly killing my joy. But Lauren and I had made it to the recommended 6 months for nutrition and she was now learning about "food". She was/is thriving. It was time to think about me for a little while.

So here we are today. No more pumping. No more breast feeding. A milk supply slowly diminishing.

I am both happy and sad. Happy that I am "free" to give my full soul to my daughter, without the guilt or shame. Sad that I couldn't follow through with a promise I had secretly made her and me.

But as I feed her her bottle at night, then gently rock her to sleep, I know we are going to be ok.