The morning of July 9th was C's last taste of the boob. It seemed like a good time because Jake had the week off and could attend to her more often. Most people I know stopped breastfeeding because they dried up or their kid made the decision for them - I did it because I was tired of my hair falling out and my body was screaming that I needed to stop giving away my hydration and nutrition and freedom. I had to Google how to do this because I didn't take the freaking breastfeeding class because I was tired of seeing the hospital and figured either C and I would figure it out or we wouldn't. Well, we figured it out. And we stuck with it.
The first day we snuck it under the radar pretty easily, but by day two she got the hint and wanted to make sure we knew she did NOT approve. It took about 5 days of violent tugging at the neckline of my shirts, dirty looks, and climbing into my lap and putting herself into prime boob eating position, for her to really give in. As long as I fed her food or distracted her every time, she seemed to be mildly okay with it. However, it wasn't lost on me that she became very attached to Mr. and -call me crazy (or stand in line to do so) - but I'm pretty sure she essentially STOPPED saying "mama."
|WTF?! and Where Can I Find One of These?|
So now Mr. can get up with C - although the universe's joke is on me...since she's not gonna get any boob juice, she's not so interested in getting up in the middle of the night anymore. I can now wear high necked anything and regular bras...speaking of which, I'm researching one that makes cream puffs out of flapjacks. Suggestions appreciated. They are definitely not full on pancake boobies, but the have migrated slightly south and lost a little gusto - like a week old Mylar balloon. Ok, enough about my fun bags. C is done breastfeeding and I own my body once again. At least for the time being....