The other two little ones weaned themselves. I was all yes I WILL breastfeed a three year old... until Isaiah decided that he was over it and my milk changed with pregnancy and Addison was all, "what the hell kind of joke is that milk?!" So she weaned and he weaned and my lady lumps slowed the milk supply and the size tapered off to a normal existence. Most recently my good ole doctor and I decided that I needed to start taking a different med.He decided awhile ago and I refused because the medication was not breastfeeding safe. I white knuckled it for awhile so I could breastfed Tobias. I held off, until now, because breastfeeding was my priority. It was my priority until I started losing my mind and realized I was not being the whole human being that I needed to be. So breastfeeding took back seat and mental health became a priority. That decision is SO full of mom guilt. I mean, it doesn't help that there are militant breastfeeding advocates who act like giving your baby formula is right up there with feeding your child voodoo chicken blood. *I don't mean to offend all those cultures who feed their babies chicken blood. SEE! You can't say anything without offending someone about childrearing choices (as Bec talks about). "Don't do that when they are 3 months old" and "that product is bad for babies" and fear monguring and fundamentalist thinking and ... here is where my head explodes.
Back to the point
So Tobias and I went cold turkey with our breastfeeding relationship. It was so very hard! I got great help from my lovely friend Betony, who is the La Leche League awesomeness. My milk makers got freaky HUGEHUGEHUGE, but sloooowly my body got the message that there was no longer a hungry six month old on the other end and began to slow my supply.
The problem now?
Ever see a balloon that has been blown up too many times and deflated....
I mean... all the Project Totus body loving business is floating through my brain, so I am trying to be extra earth mamma about it and chant, "your breasts fed three children. be gracious. be kind. love your body." But then I take a shower and my nipples are "HEY LOOK! We can point to the drain!" and I whimper a bit about the reality. Because NO I am not defined by my rack but YES I'd like to not have to fold my boobs into my bra all accordion style. Then I think about the women who have fought and survived breast cancer and am all, "shut up Jasmine, you have a lot to be thankful for- heathy breasts... seriously." There are women who would kill for healthy deflated boobs.
So I have a tug of war with my mind and my body.
Which is nothing new.
Life after breastfeeding. Oy.