When forty minutes' worth of work yielded next to nothing, I went through the motions as always. Disassembling the parts, washing each by hand, setting them on the rack to dry. I sat back down at my desk, ostensibly to work, and instead spent a long moment staring at nothing.
I've done this before, but I'll never do it again.
Pumping milk isn't something anyone enjoys doing, but it represents my body's ability to take care of my baby. It has been a rather large part of my identity, on and off these past seven years. It was a daily routine that forced me to look away from the computer monitor and focus on the task I wish I were doing with the baby I wish I were with. And saying goodbye to this is saying goodbye to having a baby. Forever.
And therein lies the problem. The finality of never again holding a baby – my baby – is heartbreaking. I adore all three children and love how they're growing, but as long as I live I will never love anything as much as I have loved my babies. The tiny size, the heavenly smell, holding them while they sleep, those first expressions, the grip of their little hands, the complete dependence.
Here's a peek at what we've been up to lately.
|Truman Taking Pictures in the Car|
|Fletcher's Music Concert|
|Trying to Walk (she has managed a few steps before falling)|