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Browsing Tag: weaning

There’s Cole Slaw in My Bra

I texted my mom this morning, just after a very early trip to the grocery store: “I have cabbage in my bra,” I wrote. Two seconds later, my Irish mother responded: “Now all you need is the corned beef!” She’s a funny one, isn’t she, my mom? She’s also the same one who saw me recently and stopped in her tracks at the sight of my, um, well, chest.  “Oh, my, Leah,” she said, looking vaguely horrified. “You’re looking rather…buxom.” Buxom, indeed. Yeah, she about hit that hideously engorged, painful nail right smack on its miserable head. See, I’ve recently stumbled upon the horrible truth that sometimes weaning a baby from the boob juice is not an easy, simple process, as it was with SK. Nosirree. Sometimes–and whhhyyy did no one tell me this?!–you can end up afterward with biddies that are so inflated you could downright swear–nay, hope–that they’ll burst from all the pressure. It ain’t pretty. David was so horrified by the sight of them he…

Excuse Me While I Weep Into My Freedom

This afternoon I put Quinn down for her nap after lunch. What’s the big deal, you ask? Well, friend, I didn’t nurse her first. Just lunch, books, nap.  Again, you inquire: so why all your wailing and gnashing of teeth? Because, silly. I’m weaning her from the great milk factory known as my bosoms.  It’s a moment to which I’ve been looking forward for at least six months.  It’s a time that I’ve imagined as somewhere, out on the horizon–a beautiful sunset that I can see, but not quite touch. And it’s here. It’s finally here. My daughter now longer needs me as her primary source of nutrition, and I am free. So, of course I want to cry. I’m a year-and-done kind of breastfeeder. I nurse instead of giving formula, because that’s what works for us, and I’m lucky enough to be able to do it. But once I get the okay to introduce milk to the wee one, man, I’m outta there.  No extended breastfeeding for me, no…