It's been a little over a month since we switched Vivi to formula. My days of being a baby's meal ticket are done...probably forever.
On one hand, it's nice to have my body (or at least some version of it) back to myself. In general, I think nursing makes moms feel more comfortable with their bodies. This is good. But there's a thin line separating comfortable from too comfortable. It's about time I stopped walking around this place basically shirtless and unshaved. My husband, for example, now views my body in the same way he views Five Guys burgers, which he used to love until they built one on every corner. Now, if I suggest we eat there he's like, "Five Guys? Really? Meh. I mean, if you really want..."
Even the teenage girl across the street had the unfortunate luck of running into me as I walked to the mailbox with my shirt unbuttoned to the navel one afternoon. No, I was not wearing a bra.
I didn't even realize my mistake for an hour afterward. No wonder she rushed inside so quickly without returning my wave. Hidey-ho, neighborino!
Now that I'm not unbuttoning my shirt to feed Vivienne every few hours, I can go out in public fairly confident that I'm not going to end up unintentionally flashing everyone. That's nice.
But on the other hand, growing babies does a number on a woman's body, and nursing helps temporarily cover up some of those issues. So, now that it's all over....Woof.
I can't post a real picture of my chest because, as I said, my flashing days are through. Plus, ick. Instead, let me provide this visual:
Yup, my breasts look like Statler and Waldorf...those old, wrinkly guys from The Muppets.
After nine months of pregnancy, and an additional nine months of lactating, I'd forgotten what my chest actually looks like. It turns out that I'm not blessed with the bodacious curves of a Kardashian after all. (Except for, you know, the fat thighs.) It came as quite the shock. At least in my younger years thou they were small, they were at least round. Now, I feel like my whole body is one big deflated balloon. The party's over, people. Nothing to see here. Move along.
Plus, now that I'm not effortlessly burning through calories and no longer avoiding all dairy products, those pumpkin lattes are starting to take their toll. My jeans were a little snug this morning, and I think my scale is probably broken because that was not the number it was showing last week.
The hair on my head is also rapidly thinning. So, there's that...
And lest I think I'm fooling anyone with my cleverly positioned scarves and dark, slimming jeans, Madeline scooted past me on the couch last week and cried, "Excuse me, you big, silly hump!" Maddie Bear: Keeping it real since 2010.
Moving on...
Probably the biggest bonus about giving up nursing is that I will never again have to use a breast pump. Breast pumps are the devil's instrument. We watched a demonstration of a cow being milked at a dairy farm over the summer. The tool they used on that poor lactating beast was really just a larger, slightly more industrial version of the same exact pump I was using.
They are horrible. And now I'm stuck with a $200, really weird looking planter because nobody wants a used breast pump.
Meanwhile, Vivi, the baby who latched within five minutes of being born, comfort nursed at all hours of the day, and vehemently refused a bottle for the first eight months of her life, has moved on surprisingly fast. She now eagerly drains the formula from her bottle without a backward glance.
Times were good, Mumma, but I've moved on.
Truth be told, all the jokes and TMI above are just meant as a cover. I am sad that it's all over. I feel a bit rejected. Replaced. Obsolete.
My child will never need me on such a deep level again. Tomorrow she'll be packing up for college, and I'll probably never see her again because she'll become some sort of genius astronaut and move to mars...all because she was breastfed.
Plus, the fact that the human body can provide nourishment for our offspring is pretty remarkable. My body was taking all the pie, potato chips, and blood orange San Pellegrino I was consuming and turning it into milk. When I wasn't busy feeling like a dairy cow, I felt like I was performing some kind of magic.
And unless we have a major change of heart, (or a major birth control failure...you were all thinking it) Vivi will be our last baby. My magical, lactating breasts are gone forever. Sob. All I have left are my raisins in the sun, a breast pump/ planter, and a hefty formula bill.
Then again, now that she's no longer nursing, Vivi sleeps through the night most of the time. And when I get a full eight hours of sleep, forget everything else I just said, I wake up looking like this:
Instead of this:
So worth it.
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