No More Booby Juice

I think I have reached my limit.  I consider myself so lucky to have been able to provide Sam with some really great and obviously very fatty momma milk for 7 months (have you seen those cheeks and thighs?). But I think I have decided that it's time to call it quits on the nursing front.

Before I had Sam I was honestly pretty grossed out by breastfeeding.  I was like you want me to feed my child with my boobs?  Ew, and no thank you.  But selfishly I was like hey, it's free (score!) and it may help me lose some baby weight, and my mom did it with all three of her kids, so why not give it a shot.  So I did. Now I am a total convert.  There is something really cool about it that is hard to put into words.  It's like this: wow my body just grew this baby and now it's equipped to feed her?  My baby is crying because she's hungry and the best way for me to calm her down and shut her up and fill her stomach is for my body to produce food for her?  All of that doesn't even do justice for how wonderful it really was for me, but it's a start.

However, here I am 7 months later and honestly I'm just kind of over it.  I've spent a lot of time over the last month grappling with this decision.  My "goal" when I had Sam was to nurse her for at least 12 weeks, until I got back to work.  The first few weeks were really miserable and hard.  I will never forget the toe-curling pain I felt during the first week or two when I was so sore in the nipply region.  My mom even sympathized with me, so I know she still remembers 28 years later.  After I made it to my 12 week goal and was getting back to being my normal size, I figured I was really enjoying shoveling food into my mouth without abandon, so I might as well shoot for 6 months.  It's been a month since I reached that goal.  And here are the reasons why I'm over it:

-To be honest, I'm sick of wearing the same bra size as Dolly Parton.  My boobs are absurdly enormous.  I spent the entire summer of 2012 and 2013 being self conscious about the size of my jugs and I think I have reached my breaking point.  I just want to be back to my normal but still outrageously huge boobs, is that too much to ask?  If I ever hit the lottery the first thing I'm buying is a breast reduction.  Mark my words.

-I kind of just want some freedom back.  I'm a little bit sick of sharing my body.  I've basically been sharing it with Sam since April of 2012 and quite frankly I want to have it back to myself.  I want to be able to go out to a wedding or a party on a Saturday night and not have to worry about waking up at 5am because my boobs are about to explode.  And yes, I have had to wake up at super early hours of the morning in fear of exploding all over my bed.  #IsThatWeird? 

-I. Am. So. Sick. Of. Washing. Pump. Parts.  If I never see a breast pump part again it wouldn't be long enough.   

-It's starting to interfere with work.  Yes, I know, I can't believe I said that either.  But in all seriousness I would be right in the middle of something at work and then my Outlook reminder would pop up and I'd have to get up, take a 25 minute break to pump, come back to my desk and spend another 10 minutes trying to figure out where I was before I left.  It wasn't as big of a deal when I was working 5 days a week, but now that I'm off on Fridays I feel like I need to be the best employee I can be while I'm there, and spending an extra hour a day in the pump room isn't really conducive to being super productive.  And in case you were wondering ,yes I have time to get on facebook and to get a Coke Zero every morning but pumping has really started to cramp my style.

-I would like my boobs to be back to normal size.  Wait, did I say that already?

So there you have it.  Now that Sam is working on some solid foods too and needing less formula or milk, I am working my way down to 2 feedings a day, morning and nighttime.  I think after a few weeks I will probably cut those out too.  Just working on cutting it down to 2 feedings a day has been a rather painful experience.  I don't know how anyone ever just stops "cold turkey".  I'm positive I would have died of discomfort after about 24 hours.  

Here's hoping Sam's immune system stays in tip-top shape and also that I can figure out a way to eat like a non-nursing human again.  Put down the potato chips and go for a run, Jessica.  

G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S (flossy flossy)

The glamorous and not so glamorous things about being a mother. I'll start with the not-so and end on a positive note!

-Using a breast pump in the car on your way to a concert on a Friday night while thinking, "I hope the trucker next to me can't see my ta-tas being suctioned from here to kingdom come." To be clear, using a breast pump anywhere is not glamorous, but this is especially not glamorous.

-Cleaning up poop from anywhere, but especially while standing in the check out line at Kroger.  You're standing there and your adorable husband has your baby in the bjorn and he says "I think she pooped" and you turn around and there's some form of liquid dripping from his hand onto the floor of the checkout lane. The 17 year old make bagger gets some cleaner and a paper towel and gets to work while you try not to care that your kid just shat all over the floor but you can't help but feel a little but bad. You ride home with your poopy baby in your hubby's lap in the backseat because you're too lazy to get poop on the carseat pad and have to put it in the wash.  Not glamorous.

-A week later you don't realize that swim diapers don't protect from pee leaks and you leave your baby in said carseat in said swim diaper while she pees. In turn, you have to wash the car seat pad you avoided washing a week ago. Not glamorous.

-You dig for gold (boogers) in your baby's nose without thinking twice about it. You can't have her wandering around with bats in the cave. Not glamorous.

-You show up to work in a black blazer thinking you look super fetch, but in turn realize there is slobber all over the right shoulder of your blazer from holding your baby while wearing that blazer a few weeks ago.  Chances of you taking that wool blazer to get dry-cleaned: 0%.  Not glamorous.

-Your idea of a sexy bra is one that does not have breast milk on it.  Bonus points if there are less than 3 hooks in the back and the shoulder straps are less than 2 inches thick.  Not glamorous.

-Being awake at 2am for anything unrelated to social activities or husband/wife bedroom activities.  Not glamorous.

Switching gears...

-A majorly hot 40-something-male runs by you while you've got your baby in the stroller and says "wow that is a beautiful baby.  You translate that to mean "wow you make beautiful babies and I think you're beautiful too".  Thanks bro, you just made my day.  Glamorous.

-Any random stranger tells you your baby is beautiful.  Glamorous.

-Dressing your sweet baby girl up in ribbons, bows, dresses, bathing suits and sunglasses.  Also shopping for said items.  Fun and glamorous.

-Letting your sweet baby girl fall asleep on your chest.  There is nothing better in the world.  So glamorous.

-Your baby is splashing in the pool and quickly learns that she is splashing herself in the face so she starts closing her eyes before she splashes.  You realize she might be the next girl genius.  Smart and glamorous.

-Listening to the sound of your baby's infectious laughter while you tickle her.  Funny and glamorous.

-Getting an arm and back workout on the daily just by carrying your adorable albeit extra chubby baby around.  Fit and glamorous.

-You walk into a room and your baby's face instantly lights up because her Mommy just walked in.  Glamorous.

-Your husband walks into the room and your heart melts because your baby's face just lit up because Daddy just walked in.  Extra glamorous.


P.S. After having typed it 839,495,494,838 times during this blog post, I have determined that glamorous is in fact a hideous word and I don't like it anymore.  Sorry, Fergie.