Endings and Beginnings

July 19 was when it started--just a month and a half ago. I have a photo of Baby 1, my firstborn son at two years old, nursing to sleep. He fell asleep holding a banana and I thought it was adorably hilarious. We called it an "emotional support banana" because sometimes he liked to just hold onto food and not eat it, as if he were hoarding it for later, or just liked the feel of something in his hands. I took the picture, not knowing this was the start of the end of our breastfeeding journey. We've nursed him to sleep since he was born because it worked for us. I was so proud to make it to a whole year of breastfeeding, and then remarkably lasted another whole year.

But lately, slowly, he started dropping his morning feed. And then the afternoon feed. While I was at work, my parents, brothers, or my aunt would rock him to sleep. On weekends, he stopped falling asleep when we nursed so I started trying this nap technique swaying in the dark bathroom or rocking him in our downstairs rocking chair. Soon he was only nursing at night. I knew I wanted to wean him soon as it was getting a little more uncomfortable and we have Baby 2 on the way. But I was letting him lead rather than just stop him on my own, cold turkey. And lead he did. Lately, even though he nursed at night still, it didn't put him to sleep. He would nurse for less and less time, and then roll off his little nursing pillow to go play instead of settle down for bedtime. Then on August 1, 2021 he didn't nurse at all.

"Was that it?" I remember thinking. "Are we done?" If he had stopped a few months ago I probably would have been in tears. But now I think I'm ready. With the knowledge that I'll get to breastfeed again one more time with Baby 2 (hopefully) and the knowledge that Baby 1 set the pace even as I started to grow a little uncomfortable, it seemed like the perfect slow way to transition from nursing to sleep to not nursing at all.

Of course, that wasn't the very last time. On August 5 he decided he wanted to nurse again at night. I hesitated, but gave in, not wanting to deny his request. That would break my heart. But would it disrupt our progress? I took another photo.

He didn't nurse again for weeks. And then randomly, on August 24 he reached for the nursing pillow after a long night of trying to get him to sleep by rocking without success. Hubby said "He knows what he needs" so I gave in, not even sure if I had milk left to give. It was uncomfortable. Not the same feeling as before. But he fell asleep, I took one last picture, and knew I probably wouldn't be doing this again.

Though the ending is bittersweet, I came up with a way to commemorate our experience. Nursing made me feel strong (here I am creating liquid gold food to keep my child alive) and it made me feel close to my son (skin to skin contact that repeated every day no matter how distant he might be otherwise). I hated pumping but I loved nursing so much that I was grateful the pandemic gave me the opportunity to nurse my son while working from home instead of pumping every three hours away from him. I wanted a way to remember that, always.

There are still four bags of my frozen breastmilk in the back of our freezer (our emergency stash), the last one dated March 17, 2020--the last day I worked before the pandemic shut everything down and I began working from home. There used to be five bags. I defrosted one, sealed it in several plastic baggies, and mailed it to a company called Milk and Honey. They make breastmilk jewelry. It might sound a little strange, but they preserve the milk by turning it into a powder and sealing it in a necklace or ring setting. The turnaround time can be weeks, so I decided on August 2 to order two necklaces (one for wearing and one for my son's keepsake box) that would be made with my own real milk. It's already shipped now and I await being able to wear something that connects me to my son and reminds me of a time when I gave him life and kept him close and felt so proud of our accomplishments. It is a way to remember the nostalgia of when breastfeeding was so good, and how strong it made me feel, and how close we got to be all through the 2020 pandemic. Something good that could come out of an otherwise terrifying time.

As with all endings, there are also beginnings. As I mentioned in my previous post, my son found his Baby doll and started a new friendship. Coincidentally, that friendship began on August 14. Right as he was weaning off the comfort of me, he found a comfort object he could carry around and fall asleep with (and he has, night after night, in my arms as I still rock him even if we don't nurse anymore).

In the world of pregnancy, it's now the ending of acne every day (yay!) and sleeping on my stomach (boo!). And it's the beginning of real kicks! On August 25 at 18 weeks I could feel Baby 2 very clearly kicking (or punching?) me from the inside--different from the little flutters I've been feeling since 11 weeks this time (I know, that's super early for movement, but I recognized it right away!).

It was also the beginning of seeing my baby look like a real baby--we finally had our anatomy scan ultrasound! At the clinic our ultrasound tech worked quickly to capture measurements of Baby 2's arms, legs, kidneys, heart, and everything in between. The results were all normal, though Baby made her slow down for the last measurement: his face. He decided he was cozy resting his face against my body and placenta, keeping it far away from the ultrasound wand and "camera." The couple of times he did show his face, he put his hands right in front of it! "No pictures, I'm napping," he seemed to say, although I know he wasn't quite asleep judging from all the times I could feel him (and now see him) kick me! It was also interesting to notice that Baby 2 was feet down, head up. Though it's too early to worry about him being considered "breech"(most babies turn head down around 7 months) it was fun to know exactly where his head and toes were located, especially since Baby 1 had never been in such a position (that I knew of).

Nothing else to report for now, except we've made it halfway there! I'm 20 weeks at the stroke of midnight! So this isn't an ending or a beginning so much as a "middle."

Only 20 more weeks to go!