I’m no longer a breastfeeding Mommy. The chapter in this book is closed.
Vivienne turned one on the 24th of January (party pictures here) and by February 21st, she was done.
The transition? Um, what transition? She didn’t care. “Kindly hand me my Tinkerbell stainless steel thermos of milk, Mommy, yeah, thanks. Oh, and keep your shirt on. This big girl doesn’t need you anymore.”
Clearly it had no major sentimental effect on Vivienne. How did it affect me?
You see, as I’ve written before – I’m one of those weirdo-Moms who really likes breastfeeding. It was easy for me. The bond. The closeness. The convenience of it all. Knowing that for the first six months of my daughters’ lives I was the reason why they were alive and thriving was the coolest feeling in the world — something that I’m oddly proud of. Then, mix in the full-time working Mom thing and the nursing becomes that much more of a, well, a treasure. The nursing kept the guilt at bay…
But, as they often do, my daughter grew up. Vivienne was becoming more and more restless and I knew the curtain was closing and it was time to take a bow from this part of my life.
Knowing that Vivienne will more than likely be our final child made this a wee-bit bittersweet.
The fact of the matter is that I don’t believe I am ever going to hold a newborn baby of ours again… and that’s ok. It’s our decision. Sure, sure, sure — you could counter, “Who knows what the future holds? Maybe you’ll have another one…” You may not have heard me: we’re pretty much finished with the having-of-the-babies right now. It is something we’re preventing. At this point we’re sufficiently obligated, thank you very much and we have no intentions of going down this road again. Our family of four, plus two dogs works for us. The baby accoutrements are being given away at every opportunity.
So there is a part of me that is so very thrilled with my new un-encumbrance. No pump. No rushing home to feed a baby on my lunch hour and after work. No cleaning of the pump parts. (UGH. Is that not the worst part?) No bottles. No looking at the clock during a meeting or conference call wondering, “Um, I wonder when this is going to be over with – I really need to pump.”
The stress that comes with the first year has subsided and now we’re happily toddling into a new world with our baby-turned-toddler. (I’ve always loved that Grumbles and Grunts coined the term, “toddleby”. It’s so apt. She’s not a baby, yet not a toddler. Much like how Britney Spears was, “not a girl, not yet a woman.” I know. Gag me, right?)
Vivi needs me in new ways these days. She needs me to hold her hands when she’s walking. She needs me to help her climb up the slide backwards. (Who is this kid?) She needs me to help her put her headband on. (Accessories! I knew we’d find the perfect one for her.) She needs me to open the door to the courtyard so that she can walk around at her leisure and attempt to play with Lila’s sidewalk chalk.
She needs me to help her put her glasses on so that she can get.in.her.car and blow this pop stand.
Vivienne needs me in a different way… and I love that.
So, adios breast pump. Adios nursing. Adios nursing bras. (!!!)
I’m me again.
I’m free to take whatever cold medicines I want.
I’m free to have a glass of wine. Or seven. (As if. These kids wake up at 6 a.m.).
I’m free to use RETINOL on my skin!
I’m me again.
I’m Kylee again.
And I’m pleased.