I literally worked my ta-tas off to earn my breastfeeding badge. There were times I thought I might cave under the pressure that comes with being the food, but this one woman dairy has managed to kept the factory in production for two babies, about a year and a half each. My mammaries stuck by me through mastitis, norovirus and the healing of a nipple, partially severed by bite. After paying dues like that, it’s hard to believe I’ll actually miss the whole thing. But I will. Because…
1. I don’t feel as important. Technically, any yahoo off the street can now do my job.
2. I can’t boob the baby back to sleep when she wakes up at o’dark thirty, thinking it’s morning.
3. The post-lactation moment of truth: arrival at ultimate breast shape, size and consistency. (Bye-bye, boobies.)
4. I have to give up chocolate chips as a food group, now that no one is sucking excess calories from my body.
5. The new clothes I bought for my post-baby body, don’t fit my post-nursing body. (See chocolate chips.)
6. No more excusing myself from a room I don’t want to be in, by claiming I have to nurse.
7. Now that I am no longer her personal milk fountain, the baby has noticed I’m not as cool as Daddy.
8. I have to prepare actual food for the kid.
9. I thought I was reclaiming all rights to my body, but my husband is standing by, ready to affix ‘Property Of’ stickers to what is left of my chest.
10. My baby is growing up. This was happening the whole time, but without breast milk to take the edge off, it stings a lot more.
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