Updated: July 20, 2017
Originally Published: Jan. 4, 2016
Before my son was born, I had a different perspective on breastfeeding compared to many of my peers. Having loathed pregnancy with all my heart, I assumed nursing would be just as challenging. My initial goal was simply to breastfeed for three weeks. A modest aim, right?
During those early days, I often found myself in the glider of my son’s nursery, tears streaming down my face as I struggled through each feeding. It felt so unnatural, and I couldn’t help but want to confront every lactation consultant who had guided me during my hospital stay for making me believe it was the best choice.
But tonight, everything has changed.
Tonight, I cried in that same glider, for after nine months, we’ve reached the conclusion of this chapter. Amid the postpartum struggles, sore nipples, and moments of resentment for being so attached to this little being, we settled into a rhythm. Why do we often focus on the difficult aspects of motherhood and overlook the beautiful moments? Somewhere along the way, I began to cherish our time together, and just as I started to recognize its significance, it was coming to an end.
As I held him close before bedtime, tears fell freely as I tried to absorb every detail: the warmth of his small body against mine, the gentle rise and fall of his breath, and the way his little hand rested softly on his cheek. I wept because I know these memories will fade.
I don’t want to forget this.
The guilt washed over me like a tide. This glider has been his sanctuary since he first entered this world, and the thought of taking it away felt like tearing something vital from him.
I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that my tears were also fueled by fear. It’s not the formula or the judgment from other mothers that frightens me, nor the discomfort of weaning. Instead, I am scared of the mother I will become without this bond. During this survival year, breastfeeding has been my secret weapon against sleepless nights, teething discomfort, and the anxiety of pediatric visits. It feels like I’m laying down my arms and stepping into a battle unprepared, unsure of how I will cope.
I stifle another sob, wondering if this choice makes me less irreplaceable. I know my husband would call these thoughts “crazy,” but tonight, they’re unshakeable. Perhaps tomorrow, the more rational part of my mind will return, reminding me that while this breastfeeding connection has been special, it does not define my role as a mother. I’ll tell myself that a mother’s value lies in her unwavering love, her ability to mend tears with a hug, and her commitment to providing the best for her child.
Tonight, I cried in the glider. But tomorrow, I will remind myself that as long as he is nourished and loved, the source of that nourishment doesn’t matter. To learn more about the journey of motherhood, check out this insightful blog post. And if you’re considering at-home insemination options, Make a Mom offers reliable syringe kits. For a deeper understanding of the process, visit this excellent resource on artificial insemination.
In summary, motherhood is a complex blend of joy and sorrow. As I navigate the end of one chapter, I hold on to the belief that my love and dedication define my journey, not just the moments spent nursing.
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