I've nursed him nearly two months longer than I nursed Kate, partially because when Kate was six months old we went on a vacation without her and my milk started to dry up, leading to a pretty easy and natural weaning. But the other reason I have continued to nurse Beckett is more emotional. Ben and I are (sort of) in agreement (sometimes) that B will be our last. Which means this is the last time I will nurse, using my breasts for a higher purpose (MY BREASTS ARE AMAZING! THEY GIVE LIFE! THEY FEED ANOTHER HUMAN!) rather than just weekend funbags for the hubs (who is all, YOUR BREASTS ARE AMAZING! CAN I TOUCH THEM AGAIN??)
But when Beckett sprouted his sixth (SIXTH!!?! WTF??) tooth, I decided it was time to cut the cord. Because each nursing session was like breastfeeding a baby bear. Or a cuddly tiger. OR FUCKING JAWS.
So I started last week giving him only bottles after lunch. He was pretty not okay with the whole situation, but I learned that if I just propped him up on a pillow, handed him a bottle and hid out of sight, little dude would drink. Because while boob was his preference, he seemed to figure that starving would suck more than drinking out of a bottle. Once we got that figured out, I felt ready to make the switch. So two days ago, after his early morning feeding I made the decision that we were done. That was my last feeding. And that day was great. And I patted myself on the back for a successful weaning.
And it has been. For Beckett anyways. Besides an occasional nudge at the old ta-tas, he seems to be okay with it.
I, on the other hand, am a full-on, hot mess.
I realized my hormones were getting all wonky about a day later when I started tearing up in the grocery store for no reason. Since then, I've been on a wild ride of happy, sad, angry and back to happy every 10-30 minutes. Ben is staying out of my way, which is a good sign I'm being a complete basket case. And if that wasn't enough, my boobs feel like they have been replaced by two bowling balls and my nipples have been hard for a full 48 hours.
FORTY-EIGHT HOURS.
So wish me luck. Because I swear on everything holy, I feel like if my body produces ONE MORE OUNCE OF MILK my breasts will literally explode.
And that would suck.
But when Beckett sprouted his sixth (SIXTH!!?! WTF??) tooth, I decided it was time to cut the cord. Because each nursing session was like breastfeeding a baby bear. Or a cuddly tiger. OR FUCKING JAWS.
So I started last week giving him only bottles after lunch. He was pretty not okay with the whole situation, but I learned that if I just propped him up on a pillow, handed him a bottle and hid out of sight, little dude would drink. Because while boob was his preference, he seemed to figure that starving would suck more than drinking out of a bottle. Once we got that figured out, I felt ready to make the switch. So two days ago, after his early morning feeding I made the decision that we were done. That was my last feeding. And that day was great. And I patted myself on the back for a successful weaning.
And it has been. For Beckett anyways. Besides an occasional nudge at the old ta-tas, he seems to be okay with it.
I, on the other hand, am a full-on, hot mess.
I realized my hormones were getting all wonky about a day later when I started tearing up in the grocery store for no reason. Since then, I've been on a wild ride of happy, sad, angry and back to happy every 10-30 minutes. Ben is staying out of my way, which is a good sign I'm being a complete basket case. And if that wasn't enough, my boobs feel like they have been replaced by two bowling balls and my nipples have been hard for a full 48 hours.
FORTY-EIGHT HOURS.
So wish me luck. Because I swear on everything holy, I feel like if my body produces ONE MORE OUNCE OF MILK my breasts will literally explode.
And that would suck.
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