The Shop is Closed

A year.

Before he was born, I made a conscious decision to breastfeed Dylan for a full year if at all possible. 

My breastfeeding experience with Abbey went as well as could be expected, considering my pumping option at work was a dirty supply closet attached to a friend's classroom or under my desk, with the blinds closed, posterboards on the windows on my two hallway doors, chatting with a friend whose desk was housed in my classroom.

I ended up supplementing with formula for daytime feedings.

Since I wouldn't be working outside of the home when I had Dylan, exclusively breastfeeding until he was ready for cow's milk seemed like a reasonable goal, a good fit for our family.

There were times I questioned the decision.  He (mostly) rejected bottles and always rejected nursing covers or blankets or anything that might have added discretion to his feedings.  Since we were often out and about, I was a virtual National Geographic mother (sorry Metro Detroit.)

But in the chaos of having a two-year old and an itty bitty baby, nursing became the eye of the storm for Dylan and me.  It was the time when we were able to carve out some mother-child alone time, even in the middle of a playdate or a shopping trip.  Abbey would sometimes share the moment, listening to a book on the couch with us or just snuggling into my free side, her head on my shoulder.

As his one-year birthday drew near, and he discovered the wonder of solid foods, his feedings naturally decreased.  I groaned about his middle of the night feeding but privately cherished the moments we had alone in a silent house, his sleepy gulps of milk comforting him back to sleep.

It hurt to drop that feeding.

I held onto his final feeding, before bed, until he was fourteen months.  I used his follow-up appointment to his surgery as an end date, and shed tears at that final feeding.

He's our last baby, so that final feeding was truly the final feeding.

He is still a hugger and a kisser and a snuggler and a giggler, so there are plently of moments of closeness to savor and appreciate.  I try to remember that when I look back on those early feedings, when I was the only person who mattered for just a few minutes.

This milk buffet is closed, and some days I feel a little sad about that.

his daddy 

his favorite books 

his sippy of water