Catching Waves and Letting Go

My 5-month-old son Callum likes to try to catch the water as I pour it on his belly during bath time. I can't make a list of all the cute things he does because it would be an obnoxiously long list, but if I did, that would definitely be at the top.

As the water pours and his tiny hands splash, my mind drifts, multitasking on what I need to pack for our trip to Florida next week. How cute those tiny hands will be splashing in the ocean! I begin mentally counting down the days until those hands inevitably grab a fistful of sand, and I can pass him off to his Mimi and have some much-needed relaxation.

One short flight is The only thing standing between me and my pina colada. This will be Callum's first flight. When I booked the ticket, I planned to breastfeed him during takeoff to minimize the chance of his ears popping and hopefully get him into a peaceful hour-and-a-half nap just before landing at the Sarasota airport. But turns out he had other plans.

This morning, I finally decided to call an end to my breastfeeding journey. The last 5 months have been like a rollercoaster. Some days he took so quickly and naturally to latching. It felt just like I'd always imagined it would be. No fighting, no crying, just the nurturing, soothing feeling of nourishing your baby.

But if I'm being honest, most days were not that way. From the moment he was born, breastfeeding has been a challenge for us both. Let me just say I am in full support of formula feeding, especially if it's what's best for your baby and your mental health. But for some reason, pulling the trigger on switching from breastfeeding to formula feeding was harder than I thought it would be. Not that anyone needs an "excuse" to stop breastfeeding, but I definitely had plenty. From preeclampsia readmission the day my milk came in to a tongue tie and shallow latch, there were times when all I did was count down the moments until he was done with his feed so I could get back to whatever I was doing. I've never hated and loved something so much.

When he turned 4 months, he'd have many days where only bottle feeds would work. So, little by little, we began supplementing. In the last couple of weeks, I've felt my supply dip considerably. Logically, I knew that would happen. If he's not breastfeeding as much, my supply will obviously go down. But when it actually played out, I began to panic. I suddenly worried about the finality of it all. If I stop breastfeeding now, what if he needs it in a few months? What if it's just my supply, and I can get it picked up again? Will he be better about latching? I wasn't ready to let go. What if... What if… What if?

This morning, after a long stretch between feeds, I knew my baby was hungry. I thawed out 4 ounces of pumped breast milk and warmed it perfectly to body temperature. After every sip, he recoiled. I knew the quality was fine; there was nothing wrong with the bottle or the taste. He'd had frozen breast milk before and been fine. After 15 minutes of fighting, it finally clicked: he likes formula better. To him, it's merely taste. He has no idea the weight that I've carried the last 5 months about whether to continue to breastfeed. To him, it's just food. He still looks up at me adoringly because I'm his mom. Not because I'm his food source.

Every week that he was a newborn, I counted. Fully aware that time flies, wanting to hold onto every little moment I possibly could remember but also so ready for certain moments to pass. Being afraid to take him out into the world but also experiencing the worst cabin fever I've ever had. The feeling of being adrift, anchorless in a storm but also stuck in place. Not sure what decisions are right and what decisions are wrong. Then I suddenly woke up, and my newborn is 5 months old and making decisions for me.

Postpartum is like the ocean. Standing on the shore, you can't help but feel a sense of wonder and amazement, knowing that the ocean goes on for miles and miles. The depth that you know exists in the ocean is something you understand logically, but when you think of all the unchartered waters, it's truly terrifying. Even the strongest swimmers have a healthy fear of the unknown that lies in the depths of the ocean.

New motherhood is both wonderful and terrifying. The exhausted, anxious, and barely hanging on version of you just wants to ride out the storm, put yourself in survival mode, and get through the hard days. But you know you'll miss these moments when they're over. You simultaneously want to hit fast forward and pause. You've heard so many people say it: The days are long, but the years are short.

Back and forth, back and forth, like the waves of an ocean.

Trying to hold on to each moment with a death grip is like trying to catch the waves of the ocean in your hand—or my son, trying to catch his bathwater. If I constantly look at each wave as something lost, not something coming back, I'll get swallowed up by sadness. I'll get lost in the grief that comes with motherhood. Wanting my child to stay young forever but also embracing and celebrating every milestone they hit

What if, instead, I took a step back, looked up, and felt the sun on my skin. What if I watched my son's eyes follow the birds in wonder as they flew across the orange and pink colors in the sky.

Ending my breastfeeding journey, something that occupied my thoughts and energy for 5 months straight is so bittersweet. The tide rocks back, taking that part of my life with it. Maybe I'll see it again, maybe what returns to me will be something different, something new and better.

Maybe for now, what I need is just to watch as the water washes up against the tiny feet of a baby experiencing the ocean for the first time held by a mom, embracing the wonder of it all.