Well, I think I’m done pumping, which de facto means I’m pretty much done nursing. Exit Baby-Making Stage of Life – enter Stage Two: Growing Kids and Careers edition. I’d planned to carry on nursing fully through the Christmas holidays, since I will be home with the baby for several of those days and it’s easier than making a bottle . . . but I just. Can’t. Pump. Any. More. It’s such an interruption, such a flow-disruptor, especially considering that I wear professional clothes every day. Slips and camisoles and professional, high-neckline dresses are not exactly designed to make the job of pumping easy, and keeping them perfectly pressed and not all drippy and stained is a nightmare.
We do morning and night and that’s it, and I’ll probably carry that on until I have a night or two away from the baby. And then we’ll be done forever. It’s been a lovely 11 months, but I’m ok with this being the end. I feel like I have savored Craig’s babyhood, properly enjoyed him (to the degree my job allowed). I’m really ok with him growing into a toddler, and then a full on little boy, tossing himself into the mix with his big brothers. I truly cannot wait until he is walking – he sort of is already, a step here or there when he’s not paying attention. Like his big brothers, he has pretty solid gross motor control and did from an early age. I love his stocky little body, the little paunchy belly, the broad back – like a little gorilla. I love watching him learn to use his arms and legs with increasing confidence. I love his growing sass, his willingness to tell his brothers off (in total nonsense, of course). He’s been a delightful little baby and he’s still a delightful big baby. A big baby who drinks formula now, wee hee!