Every time I've weaned my kids it's because I was pregnant. This means that my barometer for how much of an asshole it makes you is not quite accurate.
So when I decided it was time to wean Bridget after traveling a bunch of times with my trusty electric pump, then downgrading to a handpump (which, by the way, I'm convinced that real dominatrixes use in their sessions), I didn't completely know what to expect.
And no one really talks about weaning. Well, unless it's "child-led" or so you can get pregnant again. Then somehow it's okay.
Otherwise people keep it on the down low because that means you're switching to the demon-posessed formula (which my kid sucks down like baby coca cola by the way - the nerve).
Or maybe because it makes you a complete batty bitch.
And I'm not just talking about the engorged breasts stuffed into a sports bra because somehow that's supposed to make them feel better.
I know, I know. Cabbage leaves. Whatever.
At least when I was pregnant I could sort of mask it in the whole crazy hormonal cocktail that already had me screaming and laughing in the same breath, with nipples so sore you could swear there was a rabid fox hanging from them.
But the more I think about it, I'm starting to believe that all this is a joke by "the man" to suppress women even more. An insult to injury.
They're all being "distinguished" while we've got the stretch marks, the stitched up and stretched out vagina, the saggy boobs that we can either fling over our shoulders or tuck into our saggy bottom jeans and now we have to put cabbage into our bras to ease our pain.
If that's not a conspiracy I don't know what is.
In any other situation in this world, people would be like "No way in hell would she be doing that for free!" "This has got to be an episode of Punk'd!"
"She must be trying to get her own reality show!"
Nope. I'm doing all this on my own free will.
These last few days have been slightly trying, can you tell? I feel like I've been PMSing all month long. I'm yelling at the sweet clingy baby for being grouchy HOW DARE SHE? And I'm shoving my face full of Trader Joe's dark chocolate star cookies because that's what people do when they are relegated to wearing sports bras and cabbage in their bras.
Truth be told I'd rather smoke a doobie. But the last time I smoked a doobie (hypothetically of course) they were called "doobies."
And the best part is that when this is all over, when the engorgement has stopped, the hormones have run dry and the cabbage has been placed in the composting bin, I've got to deal with boobs that look like this.
Yep, Ashton better be popping out of my hall closet with a camera crew any minute now.