Facing the inevitable

Well, the day has come. The lake has dried up. The cups aren’t runneth over. I have run out of steam. Idioms and cliches aside, the breast milk has come and gone. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I didn’t last this long with Scarlett and my supply has never been strong.

I’ve known that I was getting close to the end for about two weeks. No matter how much water I drink or how regularly I pump, my production was taking a nose-dive. The last few days I only pumped about one ounce per day, which we all know, won’t feed my little piggy!

So… I’m done.

On one hand, I’m sad to be done so soon. I liked the idea of giving Sullivan a little of my milk every day. It made me feel a little closer to him – a little more bonded. I also liked the thought that the little bit of milk that I produced gave us a little bit of savings in the formula department. Formula is insanely expensive and we don’t have the hookup to cheap formula that we did with Scarlett. Things are tight around our house with two daycare payments and all of the formula to buy!

On the other hand, I’m experiencing a new freedom that I haven’t known with Sully. I’m not tied down to anything or any time, which is really nice. I don’t have to shut myself into an empty office at work and spend three 15-20 minute stretches shirking my work responsibilities. I don’t have to worry about the effects of anything that I eat or drink, which means… BRING ON THE MARGARITAS!

So on this day, my first day of not pumping, I both mourn and celebrate. I did what I could for Sullivan and I feel good about it. I may regret this decision once I start to get engorged and sore!

The Michelin Man

Continuing to grow - both up and out! Our sweet little baby is sleeping well (from about 9 to 4:30 a.m.), eating well and delighting us with smiles and giggles! Scarlett never ceases to amaze me with her patience and pleasure with Sully. We are truly blessed.

Survivor’s Guilt

In the last few weeks, I’ve been trying to put into words the complex range of emotions that I’ve been feeling. I’m not entirely sure that I’ll be successful doing so. However, I’ve always found writing to be cathartic, so I hope to just get it out of my head onto paper (or into the blogosphere, as it were).

On March 19^th, I gave birth to a perfectly healthy baby boy. Sully really has been a pure joy in every way. He tops the growth charts at the 97^th percentile because of his healthy eating habit and already seems to be on his way to sleeping through the night, maybe also due to the large appetite. We were extremely lucky with both of our children, as they have so far remained healthy and happy. “So what’s the problem,” you ask?

A few of our friends and family have been plagued with misfortune when it comes to young ones. In one instance, a sweet little baby boy passed away after only 10 weeks and a grim prognosis. In another, a little girl passed away after a couple of years and a late diagnosis. Most recently, there’s a little one-year-old baby boy fighting to gain weight, losing his energy and burning with fevers every day. I know that the families don’t see it as misfortune; they’ve each been blessed to know their child as long as they have and are sure that the passing (or in the last case – illness) was part of a larger plan.

I can’t read about these situations or view any of the pictures of these precious little ones without extreme sadness and extreme guilt. I feel guilty celebrating my son’s healthy, flaunting it almost, while so many have had such heartache. On the other hand, it’s certainly not fair to Sully or to Scarlett to underplay their achievements and successes. I can’t find a balance between being elated that nothing awful has happened to my children or guilty that they are healthy and that I feel happy about it.

Right now, the best I can do is hope for the best for little Carter and remember Samantha and Lucas fondly. Tonight my babies get extra hugs.