I'm down to two (full) pumping sessions a day! (Wait, what did you think I meant?) That is two sessions (plus one mini session at work so I can keep access to the pumping room for reading purposes - shhh) from three to four recently, but over the past seven months I have pumped up to eight times per day, including waking up at least once in the night to pump in the beginning (I stopped that when the twins were around 4 months when Craig and I were away for a night at a wedding. I passed out from, er, dancing so much, and did not wake up until morning. Delightful morning engorgement followed, but that was the end of pumping overnight.). I have mixed feelings about being finished with breastfeeding. I am very happy to give up the pumping (hopefully entirely in the next month or so). And I am very proud that I was able to provide Elliot and Leah with breastmilk for seven months of their lives (close to 100% of their consumption for the first months to about 25% now). But it is bittersweet. I never established a real nursing relationship with my babies. That makes me a little sad. When I could have been feeding the babies directly, I was hooked up to a pump (a slick hospital grade pump that I love like a triplet, but a pump just the same). It is kind of a bummer, when all is said and done, but it is what it is and looking back on what I did wrong when the babies were little (not treating my thrush aggressively enough and nursing through the pain + accepting too much help feeding the babies, for example) is not particularly productive. Now I am just excited to be done so I can (a) bleach my teeth (b) chemically straighten my hair (c) drink multiple greyhounds in one sitting.
In other news, I now have a JWOWW-style paint job on my toes from letting my pedicure grow out for so long while trimming my nails. I really miss grooming.
This is totally the TMI-iest post in my short blogging life.