The end of my nursing days are rapidly approaching. And I'm not as sad about it as I thought I would be.
When I was pumping for Claire I hated to quit. I felt terribly guilty when I stopped pumping, even though I pumped for a year, and had enough milk in storage to get her through her first 18 months on breast milk. Pumping was something I could do for Claire since she never nursed.
With Bridget, nursing was so easy at first. We fit well together, I had plenty of milk, and we had a great routine established by the time I started back to work a few months later. Up until January, when Claire started preschool, I was able to nurse Bridget at least once during the day on my lunch hour, and our nursing was going wonderfully.
Then preschool started, and my lunch hour is now consumed by moving Claire from preschool to daycare. When Bridget started sleeping (mostly) though the night, our middle of the night, and usually morning, nursing sessions disappeared as well. These days, I may nurse her once a day with my work schedule, and what was our nursing time is now spent with my pump. With the decease in nursing my supply has really suffered. In addition, Bridget prefers her cup over her bottle or nursing (unless she's tired), and so it's almost time to be done.
While I will miss the closeness, the quiet time of nursing, I'm okay with being done since she's okay with being (mostly) done too.