I’m ready to stop expressing breastmilk (affectionately referred to as “pumping” by most mamas) for my Pumpkinhead. He’s six months old as of December 23rd, so it’s technically “okay” by most pediatricians recommendation. I do know quite a few people who strive for those golden boobies (in researching I actually found out there are “awards” for more years as well; that’s not panic-inducing for a recovering . . . whatever, I don’t know the name for this particular neurosis). I would love to get all the badges, medals, whatever. But this time around, I’m being realistic.

Nursing, and pumping especially, take a lot out of me. I think nursing takes more from me in the beginning when baby and I are learning each other, but after that it’s the pumping that just drains the life out of me. It’s a constant interruption to my workday; it feels cold and procedure-like what with tubes and plastic and bodily fluids everywhere. That sounds gross — I can sorta see why people look away when they see a bottle of my breastmilk on my desk now. Ha.

Anyway, I’m writing because I want to just make a note of this: the decision to quit pumping is not easy and it’s not a sudden thing. I will be gradually increasing the duration between pumps until my body says, “Ohhh, so baby doesn’t need so much anymore? OK!” And I will see those precious ounces dwindle until I’m getting 2oz or less in a pumping session; and I will panic a little.

But it will be okay. He will be okay. It is going to be okay.