In the months leading up to my son’s birth, I found myself discussing breastfeeding with a unique perspective, unlike many of my peers. Having loathed every moment of my pregnancy, I assumed the nursing experience would be equally challenging. Initially, I set a modest goal to breastfeed for just three weeks—not exactly ambitious, I know.
During those early weeks, I found myself in the nursery, rocking back and forth, overwhelmed with tears and uncertainty at each feeding session. Everything felt strange and utterly unnatural. I often thought about confronting the lactation consultants who had made me believe that this was the best path forward.
However, tonight was different.
As I sat in the rocking chair, I cried because after nine long months, our breastfeeding journey was coming to a close. Amid the haze of postpartum challenges, sore nipples, and moments of resentment for being so connected to this tiny being, we eventually found our rhythm. Why do we tend to focus on the frustrations of motherhood, neglecting the beautiful moments? Somehow, through it all, I had grown to cherish this time together, and just as I began to appreciate its beauty, it was ending.
Tears streamed down my face as I held him close, trying to absorb every sensation: his little body curled against mine, the soft cadence of his breathing, and the way his tiny hand rested on his cheek. I cried, knowing that these precious memories would be difficult to hold onto.
The waves of guilt washed over me as I realized this had been his safe haven since birth, and now it felt like I was taking it away from him. I can’t deny that my tears were also fueled by a sense of fear. It wasn’t the formula or potential judgment from other parents that frightened me; it was the thought of who I would be without this bond. In this survival mode that defines the first year, breastfeeding had been my shield against sleepless nights, teething discomfort, and the anxiety of pediatric visits. I felt like I was willingly laying down my weapon and heading into the unknown, unarmed, and unsure of how I would manage.
I stifled a sob, grappling with the worry that this decision might make me feel less essential. I recognize these are what some might call “irrational thoughts,” but they lingered in my mind tonight.
Perhaps tomorrow my more rational side will emerge, allowing me to breathe a little easier. I will remind myself that while this breastfeeding bond has been significant, it does not solely define my role as a mother. A mother’s worth lies in her boundless love, her ability to soothe with a kiss, and her relentless dedication to providing the best life for her child. Tonight, I cried in the rocking chair. But tomorrow, I’ll remember that as long as he is nourished, the source of that nourishment doesn’t define my love for him.
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Summary:
In a heartfelt reflection, Dr. Ella Thompson shares her emotional journey through breastfeeding her son, detailing the challenges and joys she faced along the way. As she prepares to transition from breastfeeding, she grapples with feelings of guilt and fear, but ultimately seeks to remind herself that her love and dedication as a mother extend far beyond this one aspect of their bond.