Goodbye, angel and demon

Well, I've decided to stop breastfeeding. I made the decision last week, more out of frustration with the constant back-and-forth ambivalence than anything else. It was surprisingly easy - I just got stressed one day and stopped pumping and taking the drugs. There was surprisingly little reaction from my body, almost as if it was ready to stop. I thought that I'd have to wean off the pumping slowly but haven't really had any letdowns since then. My friend A. would say that that's a sign that it's meant to be. Now I'm only breastfeeding in the morning and before naps but since there's less and less milk, she's now pretty much refusing everything but the early morning feed and even that is getting shorter and shorter. We'll probably be done altogether by Thanksgiving.

Hubby and I ate dinner out to "celebrate" but my salad and veggie burger both tasted bad, which is either a coincidence or else I really wasn't in the mood to celebrate after all. Since then, I've felt sad, but not sad enough to go back to the endless pumping and worry. I figure that I was spending 5-6 hours every day (I'd set an alarm every two hrs), around 30 mins each time, which means that I now have about 3 hrs a day more of free time! Which is great.

So it's time to say goodbye to it all. Goodbye to:

• The pain. The ridiculous, "Oh my god, does every woman go through this??" pain. The pain that makes you cry when you see your husband walking towards you with the baby, because you know she needs to eat again, and you just can't take any more.
• Embarrassing wet spots on my shirt.
• Spending hours doing "compressions" to try and get every drop of precious gold for the baby.
• The dream of getting it to work again someday and then nursing her for so long that people think you're a freakin hippie.
• The happiness of feeding her "the good stuff" and knowing that she was getting lots of antibodies and brain food that she couldn't get from formula.
• The backaches and toe cramps from nursing in uncomfortable positions for hours.
• Nursing for 45 mins at a time and having everyone else say, "Oh, it only takes me 15 mins!"
• The fighting and scratching at the breast, the "supplementary feeding system" that wouldn't work, the drives to the hospital clinic because she wouldn't eat and the screaming fits from hunger.
• Feeling like a failure for not being able to feed your own baby (and the breast are so big, too!) AND being told that nobody really has low supply, they just give up too easily.
• Scooping you up into bed in the morning and feeding you. You'd be half asleep still but excited to have a full breast. Then we'd both fall asleep again, cuddled together.
• Worrying about trying to do the right thing for my baby when so much of it is out of my hands.

Here are some pictures of the "good" times:

Feeding time at the midwives' clinic (with delivery men walking by!):
Milk drunk baby (she never gets "drunk" off formula like she would from breastmilk):
After spending so much time on the couch, I got good at eating and nursing at the same time!