we're going to be okay

I hated pumping. Why is packing up the breast pump the final time making me cry? The nondescript black bag harbors 11 months of memories I wouldn't have called significant. Once again, symbolism packs an emotional punch for me.

At first there was fear and unsureness.

Then I got the hang of it. Pride.

Then things got difficult and the fear returned.

But with the fear was also confidence that I could count on myself to do the right thing for the person who's counting on me.

So I'm okay. We're okay. We're going to be okay.