Today or rather yesterday since it is 12:14 a.m. was my last day of breastfeeding. I wasn’t so sad with Emma as I was with Ellie. I knew that I would have more children and breastfeed again, but since Ellie’s my last, I know that’s it. Also, when Emma would walk up to me during commercials to feed, I kind of knew that we were done. Ellie’s is more of a “wham bam, thank you ma’am” breastfeedee. She’s done in less than 10 minutes so she can get on with playing.
I still accomplished a personal goal and breastfeed my girls for over a year each. Emma was 14 months and Ellie was 12 months. In this day and age, I am one of the few women that still breastfeeds. There maybe more out there, but in the privacy of my F-150 truck or lack of, I don’t see too many moms hiding from passerbys as they feed their babies. I should have been one of those moms that went into a restaurant and bared all as I breastfed my child. Then again, most customers would lose their appetite and that’s not good for business. So as you all may have guessed, the boob emails and all boob talk has ended. As a tribute to my last breastfeeding topic, I’ll enclose my last breastfeeding email I sent out when I starting the weaning process with Emma.
Hello again~ This will be my last email. . .relating to my boobs. I got you for a sec didn’t I?? I know, I know, everyone’s thinking, “No boob comments? What will Stephanie talk about now? I’m so confused and angry with her! We want boob conversation!” Okay, I understand. The relationship that ya’ll, my wonderful readers, have developed with my chest is going to be missed, but we will get through this. We’ll take baby steps. Speaking of baby, mine just turned the big 1 (not to be confused with the big 50 that my parents are now. . .wow, Mom is 49 years older than Emma, wow. I’m not going to say anything more because my mom babysits my child in return for unlimited Diet Cokes, in a bottle I might add. I’m not cheap!). Emma had a great birthday party on Saturday, the 19th, came down with what the doctors thought was Roseola (a high fever followed by a body rash) on Tuesday, broke the high fever Friday, TURNED ONE ON SATURDAY and ate out lunch with Mama and Dada to celebrate, no sign of body rash over the weekend and finally had her one-year-old shots on Wednesday. Needless to say, the previous two weeks have been a little busy. Nothing says happy first birthday like a good ole’ rash (funny, I thought it was a hang over?). Now back to my BOOBS. What a great word, huh? Anyway, we are in the process of using whole milk instead of BOOBY milk (ok, I’ll stop). And let me clarify something, when I say “WE” I mean I am the one doing the milk work and Dustin is supporting, I mean he’s not squirting milk into a bottle, is he? To explain why Dustin is not doing more work, here is the following story for your enjoyment. Once upon a time when I was pregnant, Dustin read a book (yes, Dustin did come from River Road and he can read, I thought it was amazing myself. Whereas I came from Randall; however, I chose to wait til I got married to have a child. We both beat the odds.). And the book was not an ordinary book, no, this one said that a man could actually produce milk. You see, when a man and a woman are close enough, the man can get some of the woman’s hormones during the pregnancy. After reading this, Dustin put down the book and slowly moved to the other side of the living room as far as possible away from me. He complains about all the pillows I slept with while I was pregnant, but if he would have ever woke up in the middle of the night with the bed wet because he was lactating. . .well, that would have been pretty funny. The End. Anyway about this weaning thing. You know back when Emma was 9 months old, I was already for her to start whole milk. The sooner I didn’t have to wake up at 3:36 in the morning, EVERY morning would be wonderful. But now that the time has come that she’s down to half an ounce of breast milk and 5 ounces of whole milk, it’s a little sad. I’m sad because that was the one thing I could do to calm Emma down and even make her go to sleep. Technically, because of my boobs, I knew how to raise a child. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW?? Without my boobs, I am nothing. Is it just me or was that a little dramatic? It’s weird, but breastfeeding was the best bonding time that me and Emma had. Don’t get me wrong when my boobs are a little closer to my chin and not so much hanging around my belly button (did ya’ll get a visual on that?) that’ll be great. . .and what’s that one thing called, oh yah, cleavage. . .totally can’t wait to see what that looks like again. I am sad though. I think Dustin’s sad too, but for different reasons (I’m going to stop there). However, I’m not too excited about this binding the girls up and wearing a sports bra. But, when it starts to hurt, I’ll just remember the times that Emma was teething and used my nipple as a chew toy. Ahh, those were the days. Why again am I going to miss this breastfeeding? Tonight, if all goes well for the next couple of days, has been my last night to use a breast pump. No more talking on the phone to Jess and her saying, “I can guess what your doing.” No more waking Dustin up in the middle of the night with my really annoying alarm that sometimes does not wake me up before it wakes him up. No more going to bed at 1:30 a.m. and waking up 2 hours later, staying up for 30 minutes pumping, getting back to bed by 4:00 a.m. and getting up at 6:45 a.m. to either pump again or maybe sleep in a little bit and wait for Emma to wake up at 7:45 a.m. to feed her. No more being late to events even if I did get ready 3 hours before we have to go. No more being something out of Africa or once seen in a National Geographic (thanks Mom and Jess). No more trying on a strapless shirt and showing Jess and she walk out of the dressing room laughing. No more wearing a bra for 23 hours and 45 minutes a day, 365 days a year. NO MORE!! You may have been wondering what the number stood for in the subject line of this e-mail. No, it’s not the number of times Dust and I have done the horizontal hokie-pokie (he,he,he), it’s the number of hours I have worn a bra since March 25, 2004. In case ya’ll don’t know, when you breastfeed, you have to wear a bra 24/7 so that your BOOBIES don’t hang down to your knees. I take a 15 minute shower or bath every day and that leaves me with wearing an over the shoulder boulder holder the rest of the 23 hours and 45 minutes of the day. Needless to say the 18-hour Cross Your Heart Bra left me hanging (funny choice of words) for 2,093 hours this past year. Ahh, my dad the accountant is so proud at how I put my math skills to work. First I calculated the number of diapers and the amount of money we had given to Wal-Mart within two months of Emma’s birth and now how long I have worn a bra. What’s next? How many minutes I have taken away from ya’lls lives? Well, let’s see. if you take each person I send my e-mail to, we’ll call that “B”. Then if you consider that each of my e-mails takes 5 minutes to read, we’ll call that “O”. If we do that, then we have to add “O” twice because how many of you have told me that you like my e-mails and commented on particular parts, therefore, you are in a way reading my e-mail again. Now we have to take into account that Dad likes to forward my e-mails to other people, so he is sending the e-mail to more people, so we have to add “B” again. So to make this an actual equation, we’ll put “S” as the answer. Okay, what do we have here: B+O+O+B=S. I had to get that in there one more time. I know my dad is so proud. I’m still doing homework, can’t wait til I graduate in May. Talk to ya’ll soon. A soon-to-be asleep Steph, a sleeping Dustin and a snoring Emma
The irony here is that Ellie just got over a case of Roseola and that my since of humor hasn’t changed since April 1, 2005 (when I wrote the original email). I still talk about my boobs and try to make most people as uncomfortable as possible with my brutally honest description of my life or typical day.. . .ohh and the number is 8,882 hours and 50 minutes, not counting the binding of the girls (I mean my boobs and not my children) and the wearing of the sports bra. I knew everyone was dying to know. As I read this email, my thoughts on everything are the same. It’s like I wrote this email last night. Granted if I (the me now) giving myself (the me then) advice, I would say, “Just put ketchup on it and Emma will eat it.” Out of all the parenting advice I could give, that’s the one thing I thought of. Merry Christmas everyone!!
A non-pumping breastmilk Steph, sleeping Dustin, snoring Emma and a tossing and turning Ellie