Breastfeeding. The End.

It feels weird to be writing this post now. Evan is just shy of 18 months and I fully intended to continue to breastfeed him until he was 2 . I know most women would be happy making it 3 or 6 months let alone 18 months – but I guess I’m a weirdo. It’s not like I wanted to breastfeed until he was 8, but with the my oldest I had to wean them at 26 months. Who’s weird now.

Two weeks ago, without really a sign or warning that it was the end, E decided he was done. Too cool for the boob, I guess. We made it through various nursing strikes, teething, Hand/Foot/Mouth (which I don’t wish on my worst enemy), marathon training, and even Chicago… and then he just dropped the mic. I guess that’s how the third and final kid is supposed to do it. No warning, no weaning. Just… boom.

“Surprise bitches!”

At first, I was in denial. I couldn’t believe he was just over it so quickly (it you consider 18 months quick).

Then, I was sad. I mean really, really, crying real tears, sad.

He’s my baby. He’s supposed to stay my baby the longest.

I’m now in limbo stage where I vacillate between sad and happy. Happy because it takes less time to put him to bed and there are less wake ups. Sad because it takes less time to put him to bed and there are less wake ups. And, of course like the other times breastfeeding has ended, it’s been hormonal. Damn stupid ass hormones.

Motherhood is weird.

Unlike the other times I’ve weaned – there was always a notion that there would be more to come. This time though, I’m done. The shop AND the ice cream parlor are closed for business. As much as I loooooooooooove babies, they grow up and my tolerance and checking account only stretch so far. Ok, maybe just my tolerance (I could sell a kidney or something for the cuteness).

Ahhhh breastfeeding…. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was an experience I will never regret, a gift that I was given, and it saved me about 40 gajillion dollars (probably more). If I could go back in time, would I do it again? You betcha.

So, after 9 years of thinking/stressing out about babies (I actually found out I was pregnant with B 9 years ago today!! God, I’m old.), boobs, breastfeeding, engorgement, lopsidedness, Raynaud’s, milk bags, pumping, liquid gold, mastitis, and wearing every bra size from a 36A to a 32DD — I say goodbye. Adios. It’s my first really big last and I never expected to miss it. It’s bittersweet.

Bottoms up.