There will no more milk stains on the floor

I nursed my baby for the last time, uneventfully, on the morning of the first day of spring, just 2 week shy of 4 months.

I cried all day.

A new bout of mastitis had put me on my back for 2 days, my 3rd one. The fever and the pain–pain that reached back into my spine every time my son nursed–and the swollen lymph node on my armpit convinced me to call the clinic. I’d thrown everything it at it: raw garlic, honey, lime, cayenne, echinacea, probiotics, apple cider vinegar, lecithin, vitamin C, heat, massage, cold, pumping, ibuprofen, Happy Ducts, belladona. You name it, I was taking and doing it all. Finally I decided to get a 3rd and more aggressive course of antibiotics. This was going to be last one I was going to take.

Nursing was never easy for us, my child and I. It was downright traumatic, physically and mentally.

I was originally going to write about why. To justify somehow to you, to myself, and maybe even to my son when he reads this one day, why I made this decision. I was going to write about his 2 tongue tie releases and 1 lip tie release, and the 3rd, deeper, tie that we didn’t get released because we just couldn’t handle it. And about the long list of supplements and therapies I took to help with supply and fight mastitis; about how keeping up supply and fighting mastitis became my entire life and they were so fragile and vulnerable and too easy to screw up. And about how my husband and I spent over $1,500, between specialist and treatments, just to be able to feed our child from the breast. And about how my nipples were dotted with fat, shiny blisters that ripped my body in pain every time I nursed, or hugged, or showered, and how a week after not breastfeeding at all they still haven’t healed up completely. And about how my breasts didn’t respond well to pumping, and about how when I tried to exclusively pump I got mastitis. And about how my baby’s body would tense up, and how his jaw was so tight, and how his palate was domed, and how he had a gag reflex that prevented him from taking more of the breast. And about how many people helped and supported us to be able to nurse and how thankful.

I want to whine, complain, compare, and tell you just how hard I tried. I want you to believe me. 

But at the end of the day, I made a choice and it was quite simply the right choice for me.

There will be no more milk stains on the floor anymore. But there will also be no more ripping pain, no more infections, no more crying in frustration and pain, for me or my son.

I am proud of having fought so hard to give you the best, my cacahuatito, and also proud that I finally figured out when the best might not be what I imagined.