i'm wearing denim suspenders?
this is a post about boobs.
a lengthy, rambling post about boobs.
wedding dress shopping for sister CA.
i knew i wanted to nurse JF. i was determined. Breast is Best and all that jazz. then JF turned out to be Gemma and what the lactation consultants called "a super sucker" and my nips were red and raw and i screamed out in terror every time she nursed. and she didn't gain weight fast enough so i had to pump after she nursed and hook up a feeding tube the next time she nursed so she would get double the milk, etc. etc. etc. it was dramatic, to say the least. so. dramatic.
in the car. broken AC. no pants.
sorry if i scared you there, pregnant friends--who thought you wanted to nurse your babies--for making you throw up just now and change your minds.
with the nursing necklace.
but don't worry. it got better. like i always tell people, YA JUST GOTTA LET THE NIPS TOUGHEN UP, LIKE A FINE LEATHER. but really, that's what happens. then it's pretty much smooth sailing from there. except for the unavoidable nip slip here (G and i are nursing-cover-abstainers) and the occasional clogged duct there (nothing a little olive oil can't cure).
late-night feeding in a hotel room with poor yellow lighting.
my plan was to try and make it to 6 months. and then 6 months came and went and i inadvertently fell in love with breastfeeding. it was my selfish Gemmie time. nobody could feed her but me (plus she never really took a bottle of pumped milk either) and she knew it. it's a bonding experience like no other. and i felt like superwoman, singlehandedly sustaining this living breathing beauty by using the two magical fleshy mounds on my chest. what a miracle! and ohhh my little Gemsicle would wake up in the morning and be the grumpiest old man you've ever met in your life until she got her "Morning Coffee" (i.e. morning nurse sesh. JJ aptly named it). we nursed all over the damn place. in restaurants, in stores (Ann Taylor Loft has THE best dressing rooms for nursing btw), in the parked car, on park benches, on planes, in the moving car (sometimes the law must be broken), basically anywhere we would sit, we would also nurse. i have never been a modest person, so i felt comfortable nursing Gemma anywhere and everywhere. it was a wonderful experience. and can i just tell you: my jugs looked absolutely fantastic. they were nice and full and high like a god damned 15-year-old's.
Ann Taylor Loft dressing room (SEE! LOOK! LOOK AT THAT LUXURIOUS BENCH!)
but like everything else in the world, all good things must come to an end.
when Gemma was around 11 months old, i noticed a decrease in her want/need for milk, and so a week before her first birthday, we decreased from four to three nursing sessions each day. i switched it out with a sippy cup of whole cow's milk. she didn't even notice. the next day i dropped another session. the following day i dropped another. so by the end of the week, all we had left was her one small "Morning Coffee" session. and it was sort of sad. but also sort of great. my boobs would become mine again! but that also meant that my baby wouldn't be a baby anymore!!! and my heart broke a little that G didn't even seem to be missing it. but the day we dropped the Morning Coffee, she was as angry as a bull. and i got a teensy weensy bit of satisfaction out of it. like "OKAY SHE ACTUALLY DOES CAREEEEEEEEEE" and then it was over. just like that. she's a cow's milk drinking fool now. only i made the mistake of serving it to her warm the first time. DAMMIT L. kaldjldksff;ldsa so now she will only drink it warm.
fave pastime: punching mom in the face.
and i was prepared for and ready to endure the pain of engorgement from weaning...only it never came. you guys it doesn't hurt. at all. i just dried up and that was that.
ONLY IT WASN'T.
because what used to be a lush and bountiful chest of dreams has now become two sad flaps. sad flaps in the wind. my boobs look like Peter Griffin's you guys. they have been used and abused by a baby and now they have sagged and shriveled. they are smaller than ever and it's a bit depressing. i know, i know. first world problems. but still, it's sad. the only solution is to either be pregnant or nursing from now until the day that i die. but i really love wine too much for that kind of lifestyle.
at home on the couch in our favorite spot.
but in all seriousness, i'm proud of my boobs and the journey they've been on thus far. they've done right by me and my baby. and they're the only ones i've got. the flaps in the wind remind me of where they've been and where they'll surely go again. i will nurse more babies and it will be grand.
and in the meantime, i will be taking suggestions for comfortable, supportive bras that come in teensy sizes.