This morning it took me 25 minutes to pump a grand total of 2 oz of milk. That's a lot of time for very little, and it actually all came about on purpose.
Today is the last day I will be pumping. I've been weaning myself for weeks and now I'm finished. I'm done. And I'm feeling so many things about this.
Right at the surface, I'm relieved. Underneath that is pride. So much pride. And after that is some sadness, a little bit of grief.
I'm relieved because I have my body back just for me. I have the time back in the day that it takes to pump, to clean parts, to store milk. I have the mental space back that it takes to schedule pumping sessions, to pack all the right parts for a trip or for work, to figure out where and when and for how long I will pump. Now I can set down this responsibility knowing that I took it on to the best of my ability and with great accomplishment. The weight of it has diminished.
I feel pride because I *exclusively pumped for 391 days*.
I have battled my son's early food sensitivities by modifying my own diet, I have cleared countless clogs, I have learned how best to empty using different pump settings and tools and techniques, I have cleaned up so many spills and drips and sticky puddles on the counter from sloppy pouring in the middle of the night.
Do you know what most people say to you when you mention that you exclusively pump? They say, "Wow, I could never do that, I hate pumping."
Just as a side note, that's not terribly helpful to say to someone who is putting in so much effort. Acknowledging the work and saying "good job" is plenty enough.
But I think that common comment is worth noting. It relates how incredible the dedication to the goal really is. So incredible that many, many people would not do it. At least that's what they say. I think, though, that if many of these people who say they could never do it had been met with the same exact circumstances as myself and had the same exact support system that I had, they would have done it. Or they would have given it a really good try. Because to do something like this is a choice you make out of necessity, not frivolity.
I did the math. I have spent the equivalent of 24 entire days of my life pumping.
I have donated two bathtubs full of milk - 90 gallons - directly to local families.
I have fed my son every single day of his life from my own body, and I will continue to do that until the freezer stash runs out.
I am proud, and I have every right to be.
And I feel sad. A momentous day like this brings up old feelings of mourning a nursing journey that never got to happen. One that I definitely wanted, but simply wasn't going to work out under the circumstances.
It also marks the end of a great sense of purpose that I've comfortably rested in for over a year.
It's a bittersweet, celebratory, significant day.