Bittersweet

Most people are well aware of the fact that I am crunchy/granola/hippie/whatever.

I also adore breastfeeding.

It is a special bond that only I ever get to share with my babies.

When I was pregnant with Mya, I was prepared for the PPD that was inevitable. 

I told myself that my goal was to nurse her to at least 18 months, like I did with Sophie.

Every 6 months I would reevaluate and make sure that I was still mentally/emotionally well enough to stay off of medication.

It was much worse than I was prepared for.
So much so, that I now have a crippling fear of the PPD I will face after we have more children.

9 months after I had Mya, I caved.

I was started on 50 mg of Zoloft.

It helped.

For a while.

A few weeks later it wasn't doing squat. 

Upped to 100 mg.

Still nothing.

All the while I have tried to "fix" myself.

Exercising

Getting sunlight

Eating healthier

Keeping a journal

Drinking red raspberry leaf tea

Taking fish oil & D3

Actually making myself shower and get dressed each day

and so on.

Anyway.

The point is, I gave everything I had to make sure that I could continue to nurse Mya.

Slowly I've been starting to detach her from the boob.

Instead of offering it to her, I would wait until she asked.

Today I have been offering her cows milk instead.

She hasn't fussed at all.

I am delighted and depressed all at once.

This is great because I can now start taking St Johns Wort instead of Zoloft.

This is awful because I love nursing her.

I love waking up and finding her sprawled across me and already latched on.

I love that I supply her with nutrients and antibodies that keep her healthy and strong.

I will be mourning our breastfeeding relationship as it ends.