So I have attempted to write a breastfeeding post for the last two year. It is International Breastfeeding Week, so all the more reason to put together a post. I added it up and I have nursed for 52 months over the past 5 years! Even more reason to write about that copious experience. I have also felt fiercely committed to breastfeeding. And yet I can’t seem to scrape together a post.
Because I am so over breastfeeding.
I never loved it.
I did it. Begrudgingly at best, and painfully, resentfully at worst. I never got the warm fuzzies from breastfeeding. I find it psychically uncomfortable and to be honest really boring.
Calvin is only nursing twice a day now. When he wakes and when he goes to sleep. Bedtime isn’t terrible (because I have Hulu on my phone). But his morning nurse at 5 am is becoming a dreadful way to start the day.
I am really hoping that he weans when I go away for a week in October. I also had thought an anniversary trip might break the cycle with Ellis, but he picked up right where he left off and nursed for 6 more months after we left him for a weekend three years ago. I definitely don’t have six months of nursing left in me. I can’t wait to have my body back. And I don’t mean that in a body-confident, get-in-shape kind of way. I mean I can’t wait to go a whole day without a small person physically using parts of my body to grow.
So instead of the breastfeeding post it turns out I’m not ready to write, I will offer you a picture of poor Tess who had to have surgery on her ear. Her head is bandaged like this for the next two weeks. And I will be calling her “little Edie” for the remainder of her recovery. The Grey Gardens resemblance is striking, no?