O will be a year soon, and that means I’ve started my own final countdown–to the day when I can finally be done pumping breast milk at work. (Can’t imagine Europe ever thought their song would be used to illustrate something like this.) When O turns one, I can finally pack away my dreaded pump–guilt free. I will have done my duty as a nursing mommy and nursed him for a full year.
I’m can’t wait to be done. Done with interrupting my work day twice a day every day to go sit in a depressing room for 15 minutes. Done with trying to shuffle formal meetings so I don’t miss a pumping session. Done with making up excuses to slip out of informal meetings. (I never wanted to announce that I’m going to pump–for some reason I’m slightly embarassed. Is that weird? I don’t know.) Done with cleaning all my pumping accessories every night. Done with lugging my pump to and from work.
Can you tell I’m ready to be “done”?
I am. But part of me wonders if I might have some regret or remorse about stopping pumping. Most women I know stopped because their supply was drying up or because their children were no longer interested in nursing. Not the case with me–I can still get lots of milk when I pump and O still loves to nurse.
I know I don’t have to completely stop nursing when I stop pumping. And I don’t think I will stop nursing. Not just yet. Maybe I’ll just nurse in the mornings, maybe just the evenings–maybe morning and evening. Who knows? I’m not exactly sure what will happen–with my nursing sessions, milk supply, or my feelings. Will I be unable to nurse at all when I stop pumping? Will I be sad on the weekends when I can’t nurse during the day? And forget about me. How will O take it all?
Guess I’ll find out soon enough… Maybe I won’t pack away that pump completely guilt-free after all.