All the Way

She did it! Olive slept through the night for the first time. And none of that "waking up at 4am counts as through the night, right?" stuff, either. She really did it. Went to sleep for the night at 7:45pm, didn't wake up until around 6:15 this morning.

It was awesome. (My boobs didn't really think so. They were angry and Hulk-like and refused to let me sleep on my side after about 5am. Oh, and then when she finally got to nurse and relieve me, she ate and ate andateandateandate until she could not possibly fit another drop in. Then she burped and spewed approximately 30 ounces of milky goo all over me.)

But seriously. Olive's timing was pretty spectacular. We spent the weekend visiting friends in Springfield, and Milo decided not to sleep, really, while we were there. I was up many, many times in the night with him (and Olive), retrieving pacis and tucking Kitty in next to him. And though the trip was super fun, Andrew and I were tired and very much appreciated the solid night of sleep.

Speaking of Springfield, our trip was great. First time the four of us visited people who do not have children, so we had to remember everything, from wipes to sippy cups to toys to burp cloths. And we did it. And Milo had a great time. We toured Fantastic Caverns, where touching the wet ceiling was a big hit, as was riding unbuckled in any sort of vehicle. Side note: I do not recommend trying to nurse your baby on this tour. Not easy. We also went to the biggest Bass Pro this side of the Mississippi (or anywhere, possibly). Milo loved the turtles, the fish, the water, and all the stuffed bears. Great fun for toddlers. We ate delicious food (hello, blueberry-strawberry muffins), watched terrible movies (Action Jackson, anyone?) and generally had a fabulous time. All was well, except for the part where Milo wouldn't go to bed until we were with him in the room, so he stayed up until well past 10:00. Not great, but he remained in surprisingly good spirits considering.

I'm wondering if Olive's great night of sleeping was due in part to all the newness of a trip out of town. Who knows? I'm crossing my fingers she repeats her magnificent sleeping performance tonight.

The End of an Era

Milo has officially weaned.

Sometime last week he started to seem less interested in nursing. We'd sit down together, I'd lift my shirt and he'd rest in the crook of my arm, but would only nurse for a moment. I'd try a few times, and he might show a little interest, but after just a few minutes he'd squirm and wiggle down off my lap. After a couple days of this, he refused to even take my breast at all.

Three more days of attempted nursing, and not once did he even have a taste. Then we went to Springfield for an overnight, and it was all over. The night we returned, I didn't even try to get him to nurse. And he didn't miss it.

This evening Milo and I read three books and snuggled and rocked before he went to bed, and even that snuggly closeness didn't tempt him to nurse. So I'm calling it. Stick a fork in us, because we're done.

This is the way I hoped it would end. On Milo's timetable, I mean. But I'm still kind of bummed. Breastfeeding was perhaps the most difficult thing I've ever done, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I should be thrilled that it's over. But I'm sad. My baby doesn't need me anymore.

The only title for this post that I could think of was "Got Milk?" So there you go.

A couple months ago, Milo's pediatrician told us that he had gotten too skinny and needed to put on some weight. He had gained weight pound-wise (albeit very slowly) but had dropped too far down on the growth chart. The doctor recommended continuing to breastfeed, but thought we should turn my three daily pumpings into two bottles, then also give him a third bottle of formula.

I was crushed. I had made it nine months without giving Milo a drop of formula, and now my supply wasn't enough to keep my baby healthy. I had failed, and no way could anyone convince me otherwise. After the initial breastfeeding troubles, it was probably the lowest point of my mothering career thus far. Many, many tears were shed, but after a couple of days, I came to the conclusion that though I knew that supplementing with formula would likely make my supply problem worse, not better, I also knew that my current supply just wasn't adequate for Milo's needs, and I wasn't willing to spend every waking hour pumping. I already hated the three times a workday I spent hooked up to that loud, beeping monstrosity, and I was not interested in upping that to four or five times a day. So formula it was.

Andrew and I talked and came up with a plan. We had three days of daycare before the Christmas holiday started, so we'd try giving Milo formula for those three days, then hopefully being with him and nursing over the long break would help increase my supply to better match his actual needs. So Monday, Day 1 of our plan came; we sent two 5-oz bottles of breastmilk and one bottle of formula, along with his regular breakfast and lunch. When I picked Milo up that night, I learned that he apparently had been so full that he hadn't finished his breastmilk bottle (I guess they gave him the formula first) and five ounces of liquid gold just got poured down the drain. FAIL. No more formula was sent to daycare.

After the long Christmas holiday, I did seem to be able to pump a little more, but not a lot more. We just began sending more solids to daycare with Milo, and loading everything he ate up with butter, cheese, and olive oil. And he definitely began to gain weight. We returned to the doctor for a weight check one month later, and he was up about two pounds. We felt pretty good about that, and I quit worrying so much about how much I was able to pump.

But over the last few weeks, my pumping output has gotten smaller and smaller. When I started pumping five months ago, I would get about four ounces per session. After awhile, that became a steady three ounces a session. I am now down to one or two ounces per session. I cannot tell you how much I stressed about this. I began going through my freezer stash of expressed milk (which, again, I knew wasn't going to help my supply) because I wanted Milo to get enough and I wasn't willing to increase the number of pumping sessions I had.

After a couple weeks of stressing over this, I realized that my mindset had shifted. I went from stressing about how I wasn't pumping enough to stressing that Milo wasn't getting enough to eat. And I think that was sort of profound. Whereas before I was of course worried that Milo wasn't eating enough, I only worried about it in relation to my milk supply. Now I just wanted to be sure he was getting enough calories, no matter what the source.

Plus, I was ready to quit pumping. My goal all along had been to pump at work until Milo turned one, then start weaning from that while continuing to nurse him in the mornings and before bed. But now, as he turns 11 months old, I'm ready to start weaning from the pump. Honestly, I think Milo has been helping me do that for the last few weeks anyway. When he's hungry during the day, he ups the amount of solid foods he eats, he doesn't wait until he's with me at night and then nurse more.

But if I was going to start decreasing my pumping, what was going to replace the breastmilk in his diet? I'd use my freezer stash first, but that wouldn't last long. What then? Could he go ahead and have cow's milk, even though they say not until the first birthday? I did some research and called the doc, and it seems that at this point, as long he drinks enough water and eats plenty of food (with lots of calcium-rich veggies and all that good balanced nutrition) he doesn't really need to replace the breastmilk with anything. And since I've been drinking cow's milk, Milo can go ahead and have that, too. So wow. It was really going to happen.

And starting tomorrow, I'm going to begin weaning from the pump. And I'm truly, honestly ready for that.

Hi, my name is Megan...

On Thursday I went to a breastfeeding support group. I didn't know what to expect, but I was imagining a circle of chairs, with a bunch of women all holding their babies, saying things like, "Hi, my name is Megan, and I have trouble breastfeeding." And the group would welcome each person and encourage her to share, and of course she'd end up in tears. Needless to say, I was a bit apprehensive to go, especially all by myself (with Milo, of course). I'm not big on crying in front of strangers, but since it doesn't take much to bring me to tears these days, it seemed sort of inevitable.

But as it turned out, it was nothing like what I had pictured. Milo and I arrived just a few minutes after the starting time, which I was pretty proud of, considering I was still feeding him at home only 30 minutes before the meeting started. Plus, it was our first time to leave the house without anyone else's assistance, so being almost on time was quite a feat in my book. When I walked in, I saw about six or seven women and their babies sitting around a table. They all had thick, cushy-looking blankets spread out on the table, and were all in the process of undressing their babies and changing diapers. I gathered that they were preparing to weigh the babies. I followed their lead, wishing I had brought a more substantial blanket. I felt like a newbie. The lactation consultant that we had worked with before was there, sitting by the scale, ready to weigh in the babies.

As I undressed Milo, I thought it was odd that there were no introductions or anything. I think I may have been the only first-timer there. The other moms seemed to know each other. But everyone was friendly, and I really enjoyed being surrounded by moms with tiny babies. A couple of the babies were smaller than Milo, and for the first time, he seemed big to me. I chatted with the other moms a little bit, but mostly listened to their conversation. They talked about feeding, sharing stories about nighttime feedings or how they planned to pump once they went back to work. A few stories centered around inept-but-really-trying husbands. There were no tears or emotional confessions. (There really wasn't any guided conversation, actually. The entire session involved weighing babies, feeding babies, then weighing them again to see how much milk they had gotten. I never imagined that I would sit around a table with a bunch of women, all of whom had their boobs out, babes attached. I've flashed more people in the last three weeks than I had in my entire life. But I digress.)

While I was relieved to not end up crying in public, part of me was a little disappointed that I didn't have a chance to talk about how difficult this is, to see if anyone else felt the same way. I was encouraged by these moms though, to see them with their babies, most of whom were a few weeks older than Milo. If they could stick with it, even though they had apparently had the same kind of difficulties that I am having, then I can make it, too. I ended up really enjoying myself, and I plan to go back next week. Next time I'll be more prepared, though. I'll bring my own cushy blanket and I'll wear a shirt that lets me feed a bit more discreetly.

To sum up, I'm proud of myself for going and proud of Milo for maybe starting to get this eating thing. He was up to 8 lbs., 12.9 oz. That's up 10 ounces in just five days. Not too shabby, eh?