Two weeks ago as Ian and I were in the bathroom getting ready for bed, he told me how proud he was of me in the last month. I asked him why. After all, if I'm getting a compliment, I like to know (and milk it for all it's worth!). He very sweetly told me how great it was to see me so happy, determined, and focused, that it felt like I had a direction and was working towards my goals. And it was all true!
The next day, as I was out walking with a good friend, and she was
complimenting me on my organization (!)* and drive, I mentioned how
great I'd been feeling. Hardly a bad mood, feeling over-all more
energized, and just... happy. I mentioned how I finally felt like I was
'me', again, how I hadn't felt this good since before I got pregnant,
two years ago. As I was saying goodbye to her, it hit me - at I'd been
done breastfeeding for a month.
This is in contrast to where I was March 2012 - which I can say with complete confidence (now) was the land of postpartum depression. I was a Gloomy Gus. I was sad and angry, generally felt too tired to do much, and was constantly overwhelmed.
I'm glad that I breastfed Felicity for fifteen months, don't get me wrong. But that isn't to say that we didn't have many difficulties along the way, or that I loved it all (or most) of the time. We were both ready to be done.
* While we have a good calendar system and Ian and I are able to keep to our rigorous budget and keep up most of the time with our to-do list, I don't know if I have been used in the same sentence with 'organized' ever, unless it was to say, "Gee, I wish Rachel was more organized," or, "Rachel is so disorganized." This was, like, a major compliment. I'm pretty sure I blushed.