It seems we've reached the end.

Of a year.  And of nursing.

And sometimes, I really can't believe I made it.

I look back on those first pictures of her.

I remember those cheeks and just how chubby they were.  I remember how I feared I wouldn't make it this time as well, as they fed her bottle after bottle in an attempt to get her critically low blood sugar up.  How I refused to pump since I wasn't going THERE.  This wasn't going to happen again.

But then it did.  And I struggled to catch up.  Worried my milk would never come in since I waited so long to start pumping.

And it did.  And she came home.  And lost weight.  And was labeled as "failure to thrive."

And yet, we fought.  Through nursing and pumping and supplements.  Long nights and even longer days.  Finding out she was both lip and tongue tied, causing her inability to gain weight.

Only to be told by one uncaring doctor that our "parts just didn't match."  And that I should just give up and give her bottles.

But I didn't.

And she thrived.

And even though we are still a few weeks away from officially being a year, I know our journey is done as she gains more independence from me.  And let's not mention the biting...

But we finally did it.  Even when everything was so stacked against us.  The NICU.  The ties.  The weight gain.  The pain.

And while I didn't "fail" with my others, giving up so early as at the end of the day, they were fed.  And thrived.  And were happy.  But I so wanted to get there just once.  And I did.

And now it's on to even more journey's together.

This isn't the end, but the start of something new.  The best is yet to come.