A Farewell

Tom turns 9months tomorrow, he is a big sturdy lad, crawling, trying to work out how to pull himself up and he’s loosing interest in being breastfed, so I decided now was the time to hang up the nursing bras (where hang up = bin). In order not to have incredible exploding boobies and a very miserable child we are loosing one feed at a time.  Today we started with the 11am(ish) feed.  It went well, Tom was very happy to messily drink his formula from the cup and I didn’t feel uncomfy until it was nearly time for his next feed.

So why did it make me cry?  It’s the beginning of the end of an era.  It’s such a special feeling a successful and comforting feed, the senses are engaged but it is not sensual in any sexual sense of the word and I am going to lose that, I will not longer have that special place in Tom’s life, giving him something that only I can give him and it feels like the first step to loosing him.  How I feel is partially stupid, partially rational and partially driven by hormones I know but I will miss it, sticking with the feeding through the really hard days was the best thing I did for me, for my health and sense of well being and for my sense of worth, even at my lowest points I had the breastfeeding, knowing that I mattered to my child.

I will miss it and the excuse to eat as many chocolate biscuits as I like but the time has come, for Tom the health benefits of my milk over formula are minimal now, he will still get as many cuddles as he did before if not more and he is losing interest, easily distracted and feeding for shorter periods.  For me although I loose the being able to eat anything I want but hopefully that will be balanced out by no longer feeling ravenous half the time.  I benefit by being able to wear normal bras again and I will have a menstrual cycle again and all that it could possibly entail, which after all this time 18/19 months will be nice.


2 thoughts on “A Farewell

  1. As a man (even though I’m a nurse) I usually find anything even vaguely feminen in subject an excuse to ram my fingers firmly into my ears while singing the ‘La-la-la-I-can’t-hear-you’ song. This tactic got me through the three years of my training and many subsequent years of practice, including those dreadful coffee room conversations that my colleagues seem to delight in inflicting upon me.

    However I am now older, wiser and my wife and I are hoping that we will become parents soon. I seem to follow a lot of dads on Twitter but what I’ve read here has probably been of more value than the humour and the frustrations that most men seem to report. This was so honest and from the heart and I’m sure you’re not the only mother to have felt this. If, when it’s time for me to try to understand my own wife’s emotions and anxieties, I can draw on just part of what I have learned from this I shall probably get closer to being a useful partner and father.

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