Coping with Weaning at 9 Months Old

I like to think I've been blessed by the fact that both of my children love food. Like, really love food. For both of my kids, four months was sort of the magic point where they both demanded solids.

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.

Sigh.

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. 

The Breastfeeding Acceptance Plan

It's been a rough couple of months. It seems that whatever Asher comes home with, I get whatever that is, times about one million thousand hundred billion ... you get the picture. He comes home with a cold, I get the plague. He comes home with a cough, I get the plague. For the past 10 days or so, I suffered greatly, and I'm still not 100 percent. I'm probably closer to about 78 percent, but I'm hustling.

The hardest part about being sick was that I quite literally could not survive without taking pseudoephedrine for the painful and debilitating congestion I was experiencing. The result, of course, as a breastfeeding mother with a 6 month old, was that my milk supply tanked hardcore. I panicked at first. A lot. Like I always do when I get sick and my supply tanks. But usually I have milk in the freezer as a backup and life goes on and I zip through my backup and then build it back up. But this time, I had no backup supply because I just haven't been able to pump as much, despite pumping three times during the day and once at night. And have I mentioned?

I hate pumping. I hate it more than I hate baby corn, and that's a lot.

I'm so over pumping I can't even begin to tell you how over it I am. It chains you down in 15-20 minute increments throughout the day. And when you're sick, it's like the last thing that you want to be doing.

So I embraced my reality. I went to the store and I bought formula. It's a supplementing formula, actually, because I'm still nursing and still pumping and hopefully, at some point, my supply will boom again. But if it doesn't, I'm not crying about it. I'm over it. My baby has options, and that's what's important.

And then, on Sunday,

While breastfeeding an overly tired and cranky Tirzah in the Target Starbucks while Asher watched shows on my phone, a man with his wife and son packed up to leave. He came over to me and said, "Thank you for taking care of your child. So many don't." I was sort of stunned and couldn't figure out what he meant. It took a few seconds for me to realize he was referring to me nursing the baby.

So I think I'm okay. 

Review: Kumfy Soft Nursing Pads

As a nursing mom, I'm always on the hunt for creative, inexpensive, and effective solutions to everything that nursing, pumping, and child-rearing an bring.

Enter Kumfy Soft Nursing Pads, which I received for review at a discounted price. These puppies are super soft, easy to use and clean, and, unlike a lot of other nursing pads on the market, they're shaped to sit comfortably inside the bra and they aren't flat, which can lead to bunching. Buy them on Amazon, and you even get a bag to throw them in so they don't get stolen by the dryer trolls!

Check out this video review, and let me know if you have any questions!

World Breastfeeding Week: I Need More Space and Time Please

So it's World Breastfeeding Week, eh?

If you ask my parents, I've never been a tactile person. When I was a baby I hated to be held, and my father would lay me in his lap with his leg crossed because it was the only way I could be "held" happily. I've never been a hugger, and even with significant others/spouses I've never been one for PDA or canoodling and cuddling. When I sleep, I want my space, I don't want to spoon or snuggle.

Give me my personal bubble or give me death!

When I found out I was pregnant with Asher, whether I'd breastfeed wasn't even something I debated or thought about. I don't really know that I was aware of what it entailed. That is, the time commitment, the closeness, the lack of personal space, the constant attachment ... but for some reason, it worked. I made it work. And even in those moments where I was desperate to get away and have personal space, I didn't mind the little munchkin because I was his sole source of life.

When we moved to the U.S. when he was about 4.5 months old and I started going into the office of the company I worked for semi-full time a few days a week, I started pumping because Mr. T was at home and needed to feed the munchkin. I hated it. I hated pumping. It was mechanical and uncomfortable and inconvenient and made my workday terrible. 

Eventually, I was back working from home and would nurse when necessary. Then, again, when Ash ended up in childcare at 10 months (when Mr. T was stuck outside the country), I was back to pumping. I hated it, again. When he hit a year, the daycare insisted on me sending him in with regular milk, so I started sending him with almond milk and he would nurse a little bit after school, at night, and when he was sick or sad. 

Then, at 18 months, boom, he was done. I was free. Freedom! FREEDOMMMM!

When I got pregnant with Little T just several months later, I went back to my same position: I'd breastfeed, of course. It served Asher well, it'd serve Little T well, too. 

Now, I'm almost 8 weeks postpartum, and I'm tired. Little T is home with me as I work, and now, with a full-time, very demanding job that I love (and a side, part-time gig), I'm finding that breastfeeding is restrictive and prohibitive. 

I keep fantasizing about formula and not having to be the sole source of life for this little munchkin because I'm busy. I have things to do. I can't stop and break and sit in a parking lot because she's screaming bloody murder and whether she's eating or just nursing for comfort it's her timetable, and I'm stuck to it. 

Did I have these feelings with Asher and I've just forgotten them? I honestly don't think I did. I was underemployed in Israel and then the U.S. back then. I had time. Time was mostly what I did have. He was colicky and grumpy and he nursed a lot because of it, and I didn't mind. I had time.

So, I just pumped. Yeah, she fell asleep and I pumped and I didn't hate it because it might give me some semblance of momentary freedom in the not-so-distant future. I mean, I even cut holes in one of my bras to hands-free pump because I don't have a pumping bra! I've gone nuts!

Or maybe I'm dreaming of the day that she is taken care of by someone who can give her the love and attention that I can't because I have. to. get. work. done. Because I want to play with her, but I want to work, and I want to be a good mom to Asher, and I want to be a good wife to my husband, but I can't do them all and still breathe.

Do I sound callous? Like an ungrateful mommy? I love my baby. I love both my babies. But timing is everything, and right now, I need more time. 

So here's to World Breastfeeding Week. Here's to a love-hate relationship with breastfeeding, a need for space, and a need for time. 

What are your experiences with breastfeeding? Love it or hate it?