I've Hung Up the Towel

One week ago I decided I was done breast feeding.  The fact that I made it 6 months exclusively breast feeding (minus a handful of times Gianna was given formula and a tiny bit mixed in with her cereal) astounds me.  My plan was to only breast feed for two months and then see where it went from there.  By week 3 I was counting down the days, mins, seconds until that 2 mth mark.

Normally I am not a competitive person but my sister and sister-in-laws made it to the 2 mth mark so I HAD to too.  God forbid my sister-in-laws do something for so long and I fail when I attempt it.   In my post baby mind I HAD to match them and if possible BEAT them at breast feeding.... even if it was only for one day.  It was my first task as a new mother, and dang it I COULD NOT FAIL at it.  If I did then what other tasks as a mother am I going to fail at?! (Totally stupid, irrational, and just plain dumb. But this does give you some insight as how mentally messed up I was shortly after having Gianna.) Even as I woke up every three hours with blood shot teary eyes, painful boobs the size of melons,  and with nipples that looked like they were attached to a car and run through the gravel I insisted on breast feeding.  On top of it all I had it in my head that I needed this massive breast milk freezer stash.  I had had had to have it. Gianna NEEDED IT, so in between feedings I would pump and pump. Hating myself and hating the pump to the point that I wanted to chuck it out the window.  So a typical feeding session that would have been a half hour + long became an hour + long.  Milk would be gushing all over the place.  I would wake up completely soaked through in breast milk regardless of the boobie pads in my night time bra. I was engorged and in pain 24/7.

I wanted to give Gianna formula.  I so wanted to just say to hell with it all, give her formula, and be done with it.  I believe formula is not the devil and knew it was always an option, but I didn't do it.  The pressure I put on myself to successfully breast feed and the pressure I thought those around me were giving me was much larger than what I so desperately wanted.  (Not that there was any real pressure from those around me but again I was not normal in the head.)  So I pushed through it and just kept counting the weeks, days, hours, mins until that two month mark.  I was miserable.  I did not enjoy breast feeding.  Which in turn, I now believe, made me not enjoy my daughter.

Then two months hit and like God parting the clouds and letting the light shine down it miraculously got better.  Things.just.clicked. Things clicked with Gianna and things clicked with me.  I set the pump aside and said to hell with my stash I didn't need one.  I was obviously producing enough milk because Gianna was growing like a weed and milk was, HELLO!, gushing everywhere.  I am SAHM that never goes out without Gianna due to not having a babysitter and I didn't have many friends in the area (the shitty part of a gypsy life).  What the heck did I need this stash for?  My nipples started healing.  It no longer hurt.  Then the best part....I actually started to enjoy it.  It was getting, GASP!, easy.  So I told myself I would give it another month.

Then I gave it another month more. And then another.  I was hooked.  I loved it.

Around this time even if I wanted to give Gianna a bottle she wouldn't take it and I was always there with her so she never really needed it.  Plop out my boob and voilà, dinner done. No bottles, no mess, no cost.  Easy peasy just the way I like it.  I enjoyed the quite time that she and I shared when I fed her.  I loved when she would put her hand on my chest and rub it back and forth.  It was one of the only times I ever got snuggles.  It gave me pride to know that her growth and health was largely in part due to what my body created for her.

Then around 6 and a half mths I decided that I needed to do "Boot Camp" with Gianna.  She had to learn to take a bottle.  The thought of bringing out the pump made me want to gouge my eyes out and she was already taking formula with her cereal so I decided to give her one bottle of formula a day.  Just like that, she took to it.  From there I started to slooooooowly wean her.  Every few weeks I would drop another session and then another until I only had one session left, her am session.  My favorite session.  I figured I would do that for as long a Gianna would allow me to and for as long as my supply lasted.

My body surprised me because it kept on going.  I was still producing enough milk in that one feeding where I was able to feed Gianna for quite a bit longer than I anticipated.  I would bring her into bed with me and we would snuggle while she ate.  I loved that we were still sharing that moment... then she started biting me.  I  would tell her no and she would continue to do it.  Feeding after feeding it got progressively worse.  Finally last Saturday after a night of no rest and a breast feeding session that was causing me pain I told Hubs to make a bottle.  I was done.  I think my boobs were done.

I am proud of myself.  For me breast feeding with the single most difficult thing I have ever choose to do and I did it far longer than I ever thought I could.  I am not asking for applause or a pat on the back by anyone, but I am proud that I set myself a goal and not only made it but surpassed it.

These are the things I should've and will do differently next time:

• Take a breast feeding course.- DER, why didn't I do that???  Common sense, C must not have any.
• Consult and make best friends with a lactation consultant.
• Use the pump sparingly. 
• Not buy nursing bras with underwire.  What was I thinking?!
• Buy nursing pads by the case load.
• Lanolin Lanolin Lanolin.  I am going to bath my boobs in the stuff.   
• Would have bought these Nuk Warm or Cool Breast Relief Packs from the start.
• Would have become BBF's with this from the get too: Medela Soft Shells for Sore Nipples.
•  Enjoy breast feeding!  Time with your little one goes too by too quickly and at the time I did not realize it.  Sadly, I found myself wishing away days due to pain and lack of sleep.  I will try harder to live in the moment.  

(Disclaimer:  I am of the stance that a well fed baby regardless of where the food comes from is a happy baby.  Happy baby equals happy momma.  Happy momma equals happy baby.  In no way am I trying to promote one over the other.  Your choice on how you feed your child is a personal decision and not one that I feel I can judge.) 

The Bitch is Back.

If you are of the male sex and happen to stumble upon this blog post I suggest you stumble right back out.  Are you gone yet?  Well, if not then remember I warned you.

The Bitch with a capital B is back.  After a year and a half of her absence she showed her ugly face this morning.  Yup, you guessed that right.  I am talking about my period.  I have been majorly bloated the past few days, weepy over sappy comericals, and having mad cravings so I should have known that she would be making an appearance soon but I was in major denial. I even mocked my friend Amanda when she said she was starting her first post pregnancy period.  Yeah, Karma is a bitch too. 

How can someone who has had her period since the third grade not immediately know that the symptoms she is feeling is her period? I do not know.  Instead for a quick second I thought that I could be pregnant. When I went to the bathroom last night I saw a tinge of pink and I immediately thought implantation bleeding, and then tried calculating the last time I had maritals with The Hubs. Since we practice the all too reliable pull and pray method of birth control I figured pregnancy can be all too likely.  What are the odds in Russian Roulette?? To add to my paranoia, seems like every one around me is expecting again, talking about babies or trying to make babies.  Instantly I thought my card was up.  A million “Oh, Shits” and “Nah. Couldn’t be’s” passed through my brain and I consoled myself by deciding if I was still concerned I would test in two weeks.  Well, there was no need for further concern when I woke up and went to the bathroom the following morning.  I got my stupid ass period. After a year and a half absence it was time to pull out the trusty old black period underwear.  Tampex and I are Bff’s again.  Where there is Tampex there is always her sidekick, Motrin. 

I am going to try to look on the bright side of this all.  I no longer have to purchase pregnancy tests once a month.  I am like clockwork regular so if I am a day past 28 I know something is up.  (Although peeing on a stick can be fun…)

For those who do not come here to read about me bitching and moaning but instead come here to see a ridiculously cute kid, here you go. 

Things that make me go, hmmmmmmm?

I have always be a size five girl.  Size four is too small thanks to the big booty and size six has always been a bit too big do due a smaller waist.  When I was a teeny bopper and I worked at 5.7.9 I was in my element.  Size fives everywhere and they fit me perfectly.  Now that I am an adult and shop at the big girl clothing stores, size fives are no where to be found.  I am now faced with the ultimate dilemma.  Go a bit too tight or just a tab bit big? 9 times out of 10 I go a bit too big.  I figure things shrink in the wash or if need be I can always take things in.

Well, here is the crazy thing.  Due to the beautiful weather I have begun pulling out the summer capris and whatnot.  They are all too big.  Not the normal bit too big but the I look like a took a dump in my pants too big.  What.the.hell??  I do not think I have lost any weight.  I still am a bit fuller around my stomach and probably will always be no matter how many crunches I do, so why are my pants falling off of me as I walk around the house?

I am thinking three things.  One, breast feeding is my friend.  Two,  I lost my best feature in this new postpartum body.  My ass. Three,  maybe my pants were always this big but since I have not worn them in over two years I no longer remember their "bigness"??

THE Pencil Test

Once upon a time long long ago a 7th grade C was hanging out in her bff S's bedroom.  S and C loved to talk about grown up stuff.  Sex, boys, blow jobs, you name it.  Well, this particular day we were talking about boobs. At this point I had the boobs that I would carry into my adulthood and S was still growing hers.  (They grew in quite nicely. ;) Love you, lucky bitch.)

She then told me about this little trick you can do to see if your boobs are sagging.  Bend over with your shirt lifted, lift your boobs up, place a pencil under them and then stand up.  If the pencil falls you are blessed with perky tits.  If the pencil stays under your boobs then you are not so blessed.  We both decided to try this out and were elated when our 7th grade boobs did us right and the pencils fell to the floor.

Fast forward to last night.  Stupid, stupid C decided to try out the boob test after her shower.  Sure and shit the damn pencil stuck.  PENCIL TEST = BIG FAT FAIL! WTF.  I had an inkling that my once perky B cup boobs were not so perky as they were pre pregnancy but stupid C thought, why not see how NOT perky they are.  UGH!

Please bow your heads and say a little prayer for my boobs.  They lived a long beautiful life.  May they rest in peace. Amen.

Hair loss low

Let me tell you a little story about hair loss.

Two months postpartum I stood up on one of my best friends wedding. Here I was sitting in the hair dresser's chair looking into the mirror and talking to the stylist about what I would like my hair to look like when she commented about how beautiful and thick my hair was. I proceeded to tell her my life story, cuz that is what you do to hair dressers, about how I just had a child and that through my pregnancy my hair has become as healthy and as thick as horse hair. I actually started lamenting that it was annoying me because it was TOO healthy. I said that I couldn't do anything with it due to it being so heavy and shiny and it would no longer hold a curl.

She asked me if I started experiencing any hair loss and I gave her a puzzled look. Hair loss? What is she talking about? I told her no that I have not experienced any hair loss and that I have never heard about this unfortunate post pregnancy circumstance. She began to tell me how many woman find themselves loosing a ton of hair after they give birth and that I may be one of the lucky ones who will not experience this. I nodded my head in agreement and said how I hoped that this was true while in my head I was calling this woman who has never given birth and has no idea what she is talking about a complete idiot.

Then month three hit. When showering I started to notice a few random strands of hair in my hands after washing my hair. I thought to myself... maybe this chick was not as dumb as I originally thought. Then I starting noticing hair on our bathroom floor. Then in G's crib. Then on my and G's clothes. It was everywhere. And like finding hair all over the place isn't nasty enough I began finding it in G's diaper . Fuck.

Oh, karma came back to bite me in the ass cuz I officially hit my hair loss low. After a recent shower where I washed my hair I found a rats nest in my butt crack. No joke. A handful of nasty clumped up newly washed hair traveled down my back and made a home in my butt crack. I wanted to gag and die. I officially hit my hair loss low.

God or whomever must have been a comedian. To give a pregnant woman thick beautiful horse hair when while expecting then he/she takes that away and some. Like I didn't already feel self conscious about my postpartum body I have to be suffering from hair loss worse than The Husband. Here's to hoping that I have some hair left at month five.