Motherhood Uncensored

Weanher

Yesterday I didn't nurse Margot.

It wasn't the first day she hasn't nursed, especially now that I'm traveling a bit. But it was the first time that I've been home and not nursed.  

I figured the book tour would be a good excuse to wean her, but every time I come home, I give in.

I've been ambivalent about it for awhile now - on one hand refusing to pack my breast pump and enjoying the feeling of having my body back but on the other finding myself hand expressing due to the freaking pain and desperately missing that special moment with her.

Nursing wasn't particularly difficult for me, aside from engorgement, scabs, and TED diet I endured the first time around. But with each kid, it got easier, and as each kid got older, it actually became enjoyable, especially when they didn't necessarily rely on me as their sole food source.

And really, it's kind of nice having the little extra help in the calorie burn department.

Considering I've breastfed for a total of 53 months since Quinlan was born, it's really not surprising that it's just become second nature.

And I definitely have the nipples to show for it.

I unabashedly rejoiced when I finally weaned Quinlan, and I had no love lost for it when Drew was done.

But last night I sobbed as I rocked her and then gently placed her in the crib. Her head resting on my breast, not her mouth on it.

Considering she's been the easiest of the three, it's not shocking that I find myself desperately wishing that she would stay a baby. 

So for now, I'll just enjoy that I can still hold her comfortably in my arms.

And hey, at least I know what I can do with my extra breastmilk.  

Go Go Gadget Nipples

It seems that around six months of age or so, the world becomes an oyster and my babies want to see it all.

With my nipple in their mouth.

It's one thing to breathe in what once was a bunch of shadows and blurry figures that is now the beautifully bright world around them.

I fully support their exploratory spirit. Onward children!

But does it really need to happen while still attached to my boob?

I think it's safe to say I rely on my nipples more than I do my brain, and in fact, I'm pretty sure that my nipples could effectively continue to run my household, as well as feed and entertain my children (and my husband too, I guess) in the absence of my mind.

In fact, had it only been my nipples and my husband on the flight home from Philly on Monday with all my children at the butt crack of dawn, I'm pretty sure everyone would have been just peachy. 

One less pair of shoes to take off at security.

They're a teething toy, a hose, a pacifier, a food source, an "easy" button (ahem), and lately, Gumby.

It's hard enough trying to do the quick cover up when she pops off after two minutes or so of nursing because a kid ran by, or the phone rang, or the air blew on her head in the wrong direction.

No, she does not eat that fast. There's a very interesting speck of lint on my shirt that is more captivating than sustaining herself with food.

However, when she's stretching her neck to make sure GOD FORBID she doesn't miss anything with my nipple still firmly planted between her teeth or tongue it just makes me feel like a circus freak.

But instead of feeling all sorry for myself and my poor chewed on Inspector Gadget nipples that sort of resemble an old elastic that's been used a few too many times (sexy, right?), I figure I should put them to good use.

Safety first.

Denny's kicks out nursing mom in North Carolina - Get ur bewbies out of mah gravy, bitch!

I can understand that the sight of a boob while you're enjoying your 99 cent breakfast might be less than appetizing. You worked hard for that sunny side up egg with a side of cheesy grits and ham hock, and you don't want some old dirty boobie to spoil it.

But shit, who, other than college students and desperate travelers, eats at Denny's anyway? Since when did people with no teeth get upset about seeing a boob?

Okay, so maybe they have teeth. But still.

I guess I really shouldn't be surprised that it was the after-church group who were offended by the boobs. The devil hates on boobs. BOOBS ARE SINNERS. Thou shalt not expose part of your boob to feed your child.

Go forth to the dirty ass restroom that some trucker just took a shit in and feed your kid in there YOU DIRTY WHORE!

In all honesty, I can appreciate the annoyance at seeing a boob (OMG A BOOB) while eating your biscuits and gravy, but it's not like she's flapping it around right in your face. Once the baby latches on, all you see is the actual breast and not the terrible, horrible, no good VERY BAD nipple.

And actually, North Carolina law protects breastfeeding mothers who even have their big bad brown nipples hanging out.

So there.

I know, I know. You've seen the wretchedly exposed breast of a nursing mom and you were offended. Your eyes were bleeding. Seriously? Enough to make you get up and leave a restaurant (and calling Denny's a restaurant is being mighty generous)?

I've sat through stinky ass farts, some dude's ass crack hanging out, and a kid with a gigantic booger hanging out of his nose. I don't see them getting sent to the restroom.

The only time you'll see my nipple (in case you're looking), is when I'm trying to attach the baby. Once that happens, all you see is her head.

So when it comes down to it, I think people are actually offended by the act of feeding a baby from the breast and just use the boob as an excuse. We're only annoyed with boobs when they're not doing what they've been told to do for way too many years - sit nicely in a push-up bra or pleasure our husband in the privacy of our own bedrooms.

So please don't tell me that it's the "exposed breasts" that bother you. Because when it comes down it, you've just never really seen them do what they were made for in the first place.

[Thanks for the tip, Jessica. Full story and video here]

Me Eat?

I weaned both my kids shortly after finding out I was pregnant. Aside from having to breastfeed in between migraines and pukes, the idea of tandem nursing a toddler and a newborn just wasn't something I was willing to do.

I decided that my boobs were meant to sustain one small human (and one well-behaved big one) at a time. 

I remember being visiting by a friendly lactation consultant after Drew's birth who was insistent that I allow Quinlan a little "taste" if she asked for it.

"She can have a little taste of juice from her sippy cup," I replied quite firmly. "But she's not getting anything more from me."

Fortunately, my kids never gave me a hard time when I cut them off. With Quinlan, I stuffed my sports bra full of cabbage, relinquished my daily bedtime duties to the huz and that was it. And in Drew's case, I just went away to Johnson's Camp Baby Weaning Camp. But in both cases, neither asked for boobs, grabbed in my shirt, or stared jealously at the suckling baby.

I admit that after hearing all these stories of kids unhooking their mom's bras and screaming "BOOBIES" in the middle of Target, I was surprised that neither of my exclusively breastfed kids ever asked to nurse, that is until just a few days ago when I was feeding Margot.

"Baby eat. Boob." said Drew, huddling over us and pointing at my nipple. He sat back for a minute, obviously pondering the situation, and then with big eyes and an earnest grin added, "ME EAT?"

To which I replied, "Sorry kid. You'll have to wait at least until high school for that sort of thing... And hopefully by that time, you'll sound less like a caveman."

The Battle of the Boobs

I have quite a proud left breast. She generally rests quite comfortably in my cotton tagless underwire bra, filling out an entire C-cup with an almost smug perkiness. She never needed tissues, cotton, or a chicken cutlet. And if there was a boob to make any eyes turn, it was old lefty.

I remember the days when she was quite popular. Maybe it's because I dated all right-handed guys. But left boob always got a lot of loving.

So when I breastfed my daughter, I wasn't surprised when lefty became the "go-to" boob. "Old Faithful," I'd call her -- for more reasons than one. No need for manna from the heavens or the dividing of the fish and loaves among the masses. All Jesus would have needed was my one left boob. And none of his "Son of God" powers. That one boob could have sustained every single person.

And with good old left boob there was no need to use an intercom or walkie-talkie. Just give her a squeeze and she'd hit anyone square in the head from a good 200 feet.

My daughter would cough and sputter every time she latched on, but eventually, we both got used to the spray. I'd make sure to grab an extra pile of cloths and a bucket. She'd remember to turn her head away. And it was like magic.

But my son hasn't taken to lefty. I can't be sure why -- maybe it's because she's all used up. Or maybe he can sense her arrogance. And so, he refuses to eat from her. Backwards, upside down, any which way you put it, he doesn't want anything to do with her.

And all of a sudden, righty is perking up. Hooray for the underdog, left to fend for herself under mounds of padding. From his mouth to my right boob, a comeback is being made. And lefty is left to the breast pump -- hard suctioned plastic and ziploc bag. He'll only take her at night time or in the sling, when he can't tell the difference between her and any other boob that might pass by his nose. But even then when she starts to rear up and fire, he turns his nose down (probably so he doesn't get milk in it).

I sort of feel bad for old lefty. But her revenge is sweet because almost everyday I walk around with lovely milkstains halfway down my shirt. And I'm more lopsided than ever. Except now instead of holding her nose high in the air, it's slowly starting to point downward.

Bitch.