As I pushed the stroller past the windows at Trader Joe’s today, I caught a reflection of myself and for some reason the reality hit:
It’s been 6 Days since I have pumped and 10 days since Baby-Ko has nursed.
I am officially done with breastfeeding.
I pushed Baby-Ko through the doors of the Hawaiian flared market and suddenly all the cheap, non-preservative, goodies it has to offer started to taunt me. “You are not breastfeeding anymore, lady, you do not get to eat me. You will not burn extra calories just by feeding your child. You will not get to have ‘just one more cookie’ after your midnight pumping session ‘just because.’ And you will certainly not be able to use the excuse of being exhausted because you are nursing and it’s so much pressure, whah whah whah… Face it, THE PARTY IS OVER.”
I bee-lined straight to the produce area (despite the fact that Traders is the shittiest place for produce). As I searched for the pre-packaged Country Italian Salad (my fav), a tinge of sadness came over me. For the past 7 months, I haven’t looked at one nutrition label, haven’t thought about fat, calories, sugar, or sodium. I have eaten to my heart’s content AND still managed to lose all my pregnancy weight, and fit (okay, squeeze) back in to my size 27 jeans. Breastfeeding has been like a miracle drug and for selfish reasons only, I will miss it.
Who am I kidding? I tell myself as I ignore the best pita chips known to man. I hated breastfeeding! There were times that I secretly wished my milk would dry up so I would have no excuse but to give Baby-Ko formula. Plus, my chest is a fucking mess. All the stretch marks that should have gone to obvious places like my stomach and ass have ended up creating quite a lovely and astonishing pattern on my breasts. My areolas have gotten so large that one more month of nursing, a spear through my nose and a cloth over my crotch, I’d seriously be mistaken for a feature in National Geographic. Call me Ngudu. No joke.
As I pass all the cases of Two Buck Chuck, I realize something else: MOMMY CAN DRINK AGAIN. And not just a little glass here or there. I can get drunk! Yeehaw! Okay, fine. I probably won’t get smashed, at least not while I’m taking care of Baby-Ko, but the point is I can drink and not worry about it affecting the baby-
Oh, the baby… My sweet baby who is staring at the lights and ceiling fans with amazement. What if I cut him off too soon? What if breast milk is so much better for him and the formula is poison? What if I should have tried harder and nursed for a whole year instead of 6 1/2 months? WHAT IF-
I stop myself. Baby-Ko is giggling and flirting with the cashier while trying to put his foot in his mouth. Oh my god, When did he get so big? When did he develop this little personality? When did he get to be so much fun?? My guilt has been diverted. The party is far from over. Clearly, it is just beginning….