This Sunday (if there were 29 days in February) will mark G’s 6mo birthday. As special as this is (and I’ll devote a whole post about it) there’s another event I want to acknowledge: 6 months of me breastfeeding our son!
This may not seem like a big deal to some of you, but it’s HUUUGE for me. Coming from a family where neither my mother nor her mother were able to breastfeed successfully (and not for lack of trying, believe me), I was fully prepared that their condition would follow me as well. I had hoped to breastfeed, but knew that any day that I could do it was to be savored because the next day might not be. As a result, I’ve been extremely sensitive about baby feeding, G’s weight and his overall development.
I discovered early on that talking to mothers and mothers-to-be about breastfeeding is like talking to someone about religion. Just like religion there is no “right” or “wrong” choice — just the choice that each family has made given their situation. I try not to judge as I vividly remember a conversation (pre-birth) with a friend who laid in on me about breastfeeding G without listening to my concerns.
After G was born and I realized that I got lucky, I set my first milestone at 6 months. Getting G to be breastmilk fed for 6 months would make me thrilled. Getting to a year, ecstatic. And here were are: my first milestone.
I really AM thrilled! And to be quite frank, relieved. It’s given me hope about reaching a full year.
It hasn’t been easy. Keeping up supply has been hard work, and stressful, but it’s worth it to me because I really want to be “here” and this is something that was important (to me) to do.
Hurray for boobies!
I feel, by the way, as if I’m at a graduation ceremony listening to a speech about accomplishments and goals and the future. Except the graduates are my boobs.
Ok, enough pep-talk. Now… onto a year.