Weany, Weany, Whiney, Woe

Otherwise titled, "My Cup Runneth Over"

I have decided to wean my last child, D, who is now 2 1/2 years old. To some, this may sound like an absurd amount of time to nurse (I recall hearing someone say, "If they can ask for it, they are too old"); to others, he is such a little baby and not nearly ready to give up this source of comfort and nourishment.

I know I could easily have kept on going until his next birthday, and beyond, if necessary. I have no squeamishness about toddlers nursing. D was also the easiest of my three to breastfeed, never once needing a supplemental bottle of formula, giving me mastitis or causing me to run to the lactation consultant or pediatrician for constant weigh-ins (all of these things occurred with my girls).

But, the truth is that I'm tired. My boobs are worn out from nearly 6 years of constant use. And, I made a promise to myself that I would be done nursing by the time I was 40, which is now only months away. A planned weekend getaway with a few of my high school friends (high school friends; as in, we were 17 the last time we hung out regularly!) in late June has really kicked me to start the process of weaning.

But, as in many things, I tend to go for drastic rather than gradual. So, I just stopped, cold turkey. D isn't thrilled with this arrangement, but he is getting more accustomed to it.

My boobs, though, are not quite so understanding. One side is like, "Eh? You hardly ever used me anyway, so whatever already". The other side is all, "Say uncle! Say uncle!".

They do look fabulous though. It's too bad that soon I will no longer be so buxom in my 34A's. I can't even look at a deflated balloon without shuddering. Wish me and my bodacious ta-ta's luck. We're going to need it (or the number of a good surgeon).