Little T was pounding a vegetarian calzone last night for dinner, putting back more than my 3 year old, even. Here's the picture to prove it:
Did I mention that she's only 9 months old? Give this girl some cucumbers, yogurt, banana, really anything, and watch it disappear. Quickly.
Now, with Asher, around a year he was pretty over breastfeeding, but he'd still nurse sporadically -- especially at night -- until he was 18 months old. He conveniently quit around the time that Mr. T returned to the U.S. after his 10-month stint abroad.
But Little T? Sigh. Or hurrah! I'm not sure. She's only 9 months old, but her interest in breastfeeding has really gone the way of the Do Do over the past month. She doesn't even love nursing at night, preferring a bottle instead because she can pound that back faster or better than nursing. During the day, I can't get her to nurse to save my life. She's just over it. Totally and utterly over it. She takes a bottle like she's came out of the womb with one in her tiny little paws.
I'm having really mixed feelings about it all. I decided last week, after spending several days at the Redemption Retreat and breaking away to pump pretty much nothing in vain that I'm done pumping because A) it's not producing much for the stress it causes and B) Little T is happy with her bottle o' formula. I haven't pumped in nearly a week, and I'm not suffering much because of it. A few moments of being a bit over full and convincing Little T it's' the right thing to do to help Mommy, but usually only in the middle of the night when she doesn't know any better, and even then she takes a bottle afterward to supplement.
On the one hand, yay I have my body back! On the other hand, being in the position where I'm not entirely keen on having more kids, is this it? Last night, in the middle of the night while I lay in bed with Little T nestled closely nursing to relieve some pain and then going to Tatty for a bottle afterward, I thought to myself, "Is this it? Is this the absolute last time?"
It can take weeks for a mother's milk supply to dry up. There are things you can do to usher the process along, like sage tea and putting cabbage leaves in your bra, but I don't really want to walk around smelling like Holishkas. So I'm toughing it out. Not pumping. Pleading with Little T when I need to, and waiting to be all dried up.
And Little T? She's happy, healthy, and full of all the food, and that's what matters the most.
|Devouring an ice cream cone.|