So, breastfeeding is a choice, and I respect all the other choices out there, but for me, it has been an important part of becoming a new mommy and connecting with my baby girl. The nutritional value, the antibodies, and the other medical mumbo jumbo — that’s all great, but there are also some truly self-indulgent reasons I am NOT ready to give it up.
The boobs.
I have wished for big boobs since 6th grade, and I am so not ready to give them up. I love cleavage. I freakin’ love it. And frankly my husband loves it, too. It is going to be sad to see these lovelies droop.
She loves me best.
Sure, it can be annoying if I want to have a late night out or that the second I wake up (I don’t think I’ll ever be one of those moms who makes it out of bed before her kids) she’s at me like a puppy. But when she says, “Mama,” and reaches her arms towards me, when she smiles and crawls in to my lap and nestles into my chest, man, I get warm and fuzzies every time. And she only does that with me.
How the HELL do you get a child to sleep without boobs?
My husband can do it. Her grandparents do it. I can’t do it. She gives me a look like I’m crazy and flails around like a fish out of water if I try to rock her to sleep. And it’s the sweetest time of day when we cuddle up in the rocking chair and rock, unless I’m missing True Detective. Then it becomes an issue.
I’m good at it.
It’s the only thing in my entire life that I’ve really stuck to. I wanted to breastfeed for the first year. After the late nights, the early mornings, the mother effing pump, breastfeeding is a badge of honor for me. While I pass zero judgment on non-breastfeeding or early weaning or whatever you do to feed your kid, I am damn proud I made it this far.
Despite this, there are also some completely selfish reasons I AM ready to wean.
Fuckin’ teeth.
Those cuddly moments are so sweet; she’s snuggled in my lap, long lashes closed. Then they bat a little, a grin forms around her sweet mouth, and DAMN! Four, count them FOUR, little razors have my nipple clamped between them. And she thinks it’s hilarious.
The mouths of our mothers (like the sins of our fathers).
Whatever I eat, she eats. I drink, she drinks. I realize scientifically it isn’t quite so immediate—I mean, there are filters and shit. But the girl is allergic to eggs. EGGS. No more breakfast burritos. No more cupcakes!
SLEEP.
This tiny chick has not gotten the sleep routine down yet. She still has frequent late-night wake-ups, and I go in because the easiest and fastest way to put her back to bed is, duh, boobs. But when she weans, Daddy is sharing nighttime duty.
I have been complimented and congratulated on my success with long term breastfeeding while working, but I also realize that there are a lot of women out there who didn’t breastfeed because they couldn’t or didn’t want to. I understand that it is a choice that I am lucky to have. Regardless, I have plenty of reasons I love and hate this magical thing my body can do, but I am grateful to have the option and to have been, overall, happy with the decision I made.
Now, if we could just STOP! Or not.