About twenty minutes ago, a courier came and picked up my last shipment of milk for the milk bank.
I have very mixed feelings. I know I did a good thing, and I know it’s high time I moved on with my life, but I also can’t help but feel like another little piece of me has left with it. Weaning was really difficult, and even though I stopped pumping more than a week ago and I’m not expressing it, my body seems to be taking a while to get the memo, which is making matters even worse. I keep getting moments of insanity, where I remember that it’s pretty easy to relactate for a little while, and I find myself thinking, “Maybe it’s not too late to change my mind…” I’m not going to do it, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. Being able to donate my milk was a small consolation in all this mess, and I’m going to miss the experience immensely. I know that sounds odd – who misses being hooked up to a pump for several hours a day? – but it’s the truth.
With all said and done, I pumped for 11 weeks and donated 1,371 oz of breastmilk to a reputable milk bank in need. My only lament is that I couldn’t do more. I think, in time, I will be able to look back on this and be legitimately proud of myself for what I did, but, in the meantime, I mostly just feel sad. 😦
At least I can drink as much coffee as I want, now. This is the first time in more than a year where I am free of caffeine restrictions. I guess I’ll take what I can get!