Friday 4th May was the last day I breastfed Dexter. This has caused me both physical and mental pain. I know I’ve managed a lot longer than others but it doesn’t make stopping any easier.
Choosing to stop has 100% been Dexter’s decision. He’s been fussing so much around my boobs that I tried him with a bottle and he took it straight away. This kinda broke my heart. I know he’s not rejecting me, I know it’s his way of showing his independence and I know it’s because he’s growing up. So why do I feel so sad about it all? Probably because I feel like I’m losing my little baby boy. I’m losing our cuddle time. I’m losing my chance to sit on my arse for at least 90 minutes a day. Time is passing by too quickly.
Since Friday I’ve shed a lot of tears. I know some of you reading this will just think I need to get a grip, whilst others will show compassion as they’ve been here before. My aching boobs are a constant reminder that I should be feeding my son. It’s not very glamorous waiting for them to “dry up”, I’ll definitely be glad to see the back of my nipple pads.
Breastfeeding was such a huge part of my life. A massive achievement and a box I can put a big, fat tick against. So why do I feel like a failure? I think I kinda had that 12 month target in my head, and not 40 years as I often joked about!
Oh well 8 months and 21 days is still not bad.
I only hope I can be as successful with the future baby K-D’s.
I’m off to sterilise now…..bum.
Mummy over and out