9 months...

From Samara's I ♥ Boobies onesie she got at her first breast cancer charity walk to the hooter hider and my breast friend, I found this article rather comprehensive and amusing... http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/print/200904/case-against-breastfeeding

Samara's nursing days have come to an end. And all things considered, the truth be told, sometimes it isn't really a choice. I have felt every high and low, annoyance and joy stated so cleverly by the author, but in the end, there's nothing so sweet as snuggling so close with your very own little one, dependent on you for their entire world, giving them everything they could ever need. Nothing prepared me for the first few days of engorgement, probably made worse by Samara's stint in the NICU and no pumps or lactation consultants on hand in our Bogota hospital; No one really tells you that you can actually breastfeed 23 out of 24 hours in a day (if your supply is not stellar, and your baby is otherwise not so bemused). I haven't heard anyone else talk of sobbing the first time she had to give her baby formula because she just didn't have enough for her hungry little one, nor witness the relief that comes when you learn to love that one bottle a day that means you have forty minutes to heal the chafing, admire a daddy or grandmummy or tia nourishing your little tike and loving every second, or ever shower. That box of nursing pads did not reveal that for some people, four or five of them stacked together would be more appropriate, and as for going out somewhere and pumping in the bathroom, the car, the office, do hope for kind, blind passers-by. I remember stocking the fridge when Steve's parents visited us in Bogota just 6 weeks before Samara was born. I remember doing the same when my own Mummy came just hours after Samara's arrival. Careful thought went into what fruits and vegetables we'd have on hand for them all, what juices I could freshly squeeze from the glorious choices available, how much homemade guacamole I could fit in our not-so-Target-collection of Bogotano tupperware. And I remember telling Steve that I couldn't believe our most adored houseguest, the one we most wanted to please and pamper and show the most delicious things in the world, most precious little package to ever arrive on our doorstep would need only... me! To this day, though my supply may have dwindled with the emotion of the passing of two of my most special people, four moves, two+two very sharp teeth and so much chaos, that responsibility of a life is still remarkable to me and I look at Samara in awe of how far we have already come together. Today she had her 9 month old doctor's appointment. She is stronger and healthier and more joyful than we have every seen her. And tomorrow she will be 9 months old. She will have spent longer in the open air, squinting, but never crying in the sun, opening her big blue yes even wider in the dark to see if she's missing something, than she spent in my tummy. And just as I am grateful for every day of her life, just as I know that although I cannot breastfeed any more, I see her cheeky smile and know she is innately perfect with and without me. I am sad to think she is now counting days beyond our special beginning but yet it's impossible not to smile and only know happiness when we are together. And as for the feel of that warm baby skin up against mine, I'm pretty sure Sammy and I have a lifetime of that ahead.

Here's a shot of me and my Mummy long after those first 9 months had passed, quite some time after I stopped nursing, skin to skin.