I also feel a bit sad, and proud, and happy and lost.
But mostly just frigging tired. After what feels like an epic seven years (not really) wearing clippy bras and flashing my boobs at weddings, I wore a bra with underwire in it yesterday. It felt pointy and disappointing. I kind of thought I would be like a gorgeous forest woman at the end of this journey, leaping through wildflowers, hair flowing freely, not a care in the world. But the reality is, I kind of feel like turning into a trackie-clad hermit, eating a family clock of chocolate and staring at photos of my newborns. I'm pleased with how breastfeeding worked out for me, and each of my babes, for the most part. With retrospect, I am very aware that I did my absolute best with the knowledge and experience I had at the time.
Baby 1. Breastfed for somewhere between three and four months. I was surprised at how easily he took to feeding, and sleeping. It took me too long to realise he was sleeping so well because he was really, really hungry.
Early fusspot days. After a couple of weeks I could breastfeed and answer the door at the same time.
If your baby looks like this, go and talk to your doctor or early childhood nurse.
It broke my heart when he took a bottle of formula with what seemed like relief and gratitude. It still breaks my heart to look at this picture. Don't be sad though, 2005 Me, this boy will be a healthy, strapping seven-year-old in the blink of an eye.
Baby 2. A study in perseverance. That little guy and I worked like troopers, through illness, death in the family, moving, surgery, oh my! And then, sometime around 11months, he woke up and just chucked it in. I felt a little ripped off, quite frankly.