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.