Friday night I completely lost my shit, which is impressive considering that an argument might be made for my never having had my shit together to begin with. I’m not a particularly upstanding girl, but you know it’s bad when I’m making detailed plans for who’s going to watch the baby while I check myself into the mental ward.
Not So rallied spectacularly, and I’m happy to say that I feel much, much better today. Good, even! Want to know my secret? Wait for it…we’re weaning.
Yes. I know. My inner Attachment Parent cringes at the thought of abrupt cessation of breastfeeding. What happened to my warm, cosy daydreams of child-lead weaning? Where is my slow, gentle weaning process? WHY THE HELL DO MY BOOBS HURT SO BADLY? (I can answer that last one: I’ve never had supply problems, and apparently the kid was consuming a lot of milk. Milk which now has nowhere to go and is making me look like a poor-man’s porn star. Not cool, mammaries, not cool at all.)
The kid’s almost 18 months old, so I’m basically telling my guilt over sudden weaning to sod off. He doesn’t need to nurse. He likes to nurse, but he doesn’t need to nurse. Yesterday when I gave him his breakfast, Happy Fun Baby chowed right down on his croissant in a way I’m not used to seeing, and it took me a minute to realize – he was hungry. Which, isn’t that a good reason to consume food? And also illustrated the fact that he’d really been getting a lot of his nutrition from nursing, still. In a way, I think it’s good that he’s now eating because he’s hungry and not just for kicks. Maybe we can consume a little more than the occasional spoonful of peanut butter and our body weight in french fries, huh, kid?
My outlook has improved noticeably since we stopped breastfeeding, which is weird. I keep waiting for the hormone cocktail to kick in and render me useless (well, more useless) but so far I feel…great. Really great. Here’s hoping that it stays that way.