Separated at Birth

My husband and son during an outing last month.

I have a confession: I’m no longer a breastfeeding mom. But I am still a Mom. And I will soon be a healthy one. It has been more than two weeks since I last breastfed my son.

We began the process of weaning on Aug. 24, the day I had pelvic reconstruction surgery to repair diastasis symphysis pubis sustained during the birth of my son. Weaning was part of the deal. In order for my body to heal itself my hormones need to return to pre-pregnancy levels. My surgeon said it that would be an important part of my recovery.

At first it was sleeping through the night, rather than waking up to pump. Then it was one fewer feeding in the day. Before long, it was just once a day for just a few minutes, every few days for a few minutes. And now it’s over.

The Little Guy is eight months old. I had the intention of following the World Health Organization’s recommendation and breastfeeding until he was two. But, a healthy mom is better for him than a hurt one who can’t play, or carry him down the stairs. So it was an easy choice.

But it is a hard one, too. It’s hard when he is sad about his teeth coming in and nuzzles into my chest. It’s hard when I hold him when he’s hungry. I wonder if he is confused about having to wait for a bottle. Or if it is only me who feels a pang.

He seems to be doing well on the formula and table foods we have introduced. He is plant strong like us and his formula is soy-based. He has six ounces or eight at least four times a day. He also eats a more mushed variety of what we eat for dinner now, too, along with oat cereal mixed (now) with formula, and lunch of a fruit or vegetable.

Every few days he gets a bottle of breast milk. We decided to make the freezer stockpile last as long as possible, figuring it was better for him to get some over a longer period and be exclusively breastfed for a shorter one. There was more than 100 ounces on surgery day and there are still several bags to go. I’m sure I will be emotional the day he eats the last one.

I know he is doing well because he is more mobile every day, gets one more Cheerio in his mouth each time (maybe) and is laughing that awesome baby belly laugh more often.

But I will cherish the months that we were a duo to help him grow. Even when it was hard for both of us, even for the several weeks that I had to exclusively pump. It was worth it. He was worth it. He was worth every bit of the struggle every day.

And when I am healed and my life with my guys becomes what it should be, we will remember this as a phase of our life. We will remember how together we are strong. Together, we can get through anything.