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*warning: content may be objectionable and depressing*

I got my period yesterday. Nevermind that in the ten or so years pre-pregnancy it had dwindled to a highly manageable day and a half affair and has now returned with a 'fill this uterus now it's so ready to go' vengence, nevermind all that. Nevermind that I have cramps that are causing me to lay about and whine and cry. Nevermind that for the first time since I can remember I have ruined a pair of panties, nevermind all that. Mind the cause of this cycle: byebye breastmilk.

'You did what you could.'

'Most people would have quit a long time ago with all the problems you had.'

'You said you'd be happy if you could breastfeed for 3 months and it's almost 4.'

Well meaning but I remain heartbroken. I didn't know this journey into motherhood would be peppered with these pitstops that so affect the way I feel as a woman.

I didn't choose to stop breastfeeding. I don't get to choose much these days. With Rio blessedly sleeping 12 hours through the night, that is a big chunk of time with no stimulation. With her being so much more efficient and evolving into more substantial and more spaced out feedings, less stimulation. Forget about the pump-I gave that sucker away. Forget about the drugs-I simply can't handle them. So, forget about breastfeeding.

Mind you, Rio is getting a bit flip about it, as well. Just this morning while latched onto the right one that has hardly worked since the beginning, well, she shot me a look as if to say, "Broken. Next."

So I switched her to the heavy hitter left breast. This morning I couldn't even hear swallows. Maybe one or two. Bear said to take her off and look at her tongue to see if it was milky. I told him that she gets the white tongue from the formula and that almost made me cry.

I will be gone to New Hampshire all day Saturday and I have a feeling that will be it. Stick a fork in it, it's over. No longer will I be able to walk around with her cradled against my breast, availing herself of the bit of breastmilk, while I prepare the bottle. She'll have to wait, yearning, for the ding of the microwave. Her first lesson in disappointment.

Not mine.