Well, it's been a tough eleven days. Eleven days, it's pathetic really - they say you should persevere for at least six weeks but I promise you it's not for lack of trying that I sit here writing my resignation letter to the breastfeeding club. Tongue tie, flat nipples, nipples bleeding into the baby's mouth, mastitis on both sides and pain, so much pain....

.....and now I have no milk. It's gone. I've been pumping zilch every three hours for the last 24 now. A week ago, I got one 30ml and a couple of 10mls. Over the course of the week, it reduced gradually (despite 45-60 minute pumping sessions every three hours) to about a teaspoon and, eventually, to nil. The entire time, I have never felt anything I could describe as let-down except the way I feel writing this post.

So there we have it. The end. I never really *wanted* to breastfeed, I made no secret about that, but I did want to give my girl the best I possibly could. Weirdly, once she was here, I really, really wanted to nurse her. But I couldn't, huh? Joke's on me.

I'm sad. I have had a good cry over every unsuccessful pumping session (and an indulgent sob in the shower) but my heart is bruised, not broken. How can it be broken when my teeny tiny, sleepy jaundiced girl (with a heart murmur that I haven't told any of you about because I can't quite face it myself) has regained her birthweight of 5lb 15oz and then rocketed to 6lb 10oz in just over a week, shaking off the jaundice easily. Formula's good stuff - just because I'm broken, she doesn't have to be.

Thank you to everyone who chimed in with advice, support, encouragement and sympathy. I once read that you should never quit on your worst day and I really haven't. You guys and my DH carried me through them. Today, well, today's just the natural conclusion.