I was so relieved and happy when breastfeeding worked out for Celine. It’s none of the things they say it is (Cheaper? Nope, not when you’re renting a hospital-grade breast pump. Helps you lose weight? HA. Super convenient? Are you kidding me?), but it’s better for the baby and I always hold guilt about not being able to with Louise.
Then, at about three months in, I realized…I wasn’t in the best mood about my situation. My body (I guess) just doesn’t produce a ton of milk, so I was pretty much tethered to Celine. Plus, she wasn’t taking a bottle. It was a tough realization – I was unhappy with my post-baby body, I was unhappy that I had to respond to Celine basically 100% of the time, including in the middle of the night, and I was unhappy that my body wasn’t MINE.
After two months of pumping at work (Celine was about six and a half months), I got sick and my supply disappeared. I don’t mean dwindled…I mean it literally disappeared overnight. So the decision to stop giving Celine breast milk was made for me. And you know what…I liked it. I would have gone on as long as I could, but I was secretly happy I couldn’t. Within a month or so, I had dropped weight, was sleeping happily through the night, and was nudging Mike to get Celine in the morning half the time, since I didn’t have to breast feed her anymore. I finally felt like my body was mine again, and I had control.