I was a late bloomer. This is not one of my dramatic statements, it is absolutely true. Chronologically, I was late. It was not until my Junior year of High School that I found {small} boobs inhabiting my chest. Until that point, I pretty much wore a bra because it was socially normal. For many years, I heard my mother boast about her burgeoning chest that she was once blessed with prior to kids and I thought that surely, someday my ship would come.
It was not until I got knocked up that I finally caught some curves in my hooter holder and I thought it fantastically feminine to know that, even if hidden, I had breasts on my chest. And then of course, the day my milk came in, I was blossoming with buzzooms and even told Adam that if he ever wanted to know what I would look like with top heavy ta tas, this was the time. As my milk settled in, things evened out eventually but still, I had much more perk where padding once was. For this reason, I could have nursed forever… just to have a little more plump in my bra. But, alas, there were many more cons than pros on the nursing list and having made it {almost} one full year, I’ve officially closed up shop. I did the natural progression of dropping a feeding no more than every four days and on Wednesday of this week, Barrett enjoyed his last breakfast at the breastaurant. That’s right, I’ve boarded up the boobfet. The feeders have had their finale. The mammaries have been milked dry. Well, not actually dry…yet.
Upon completion of the final feeding, a waiting game ensued. I’ve been draining out the drinkers for the last few days. While out to a nice dinner on Saturday, I sprung a leak and have since been a bit tender but for the most part, Mama’s Milky Way is out of business. The process of completing breastfeeding is a little deflating — literally. My temporarily transformed physique is finding its former self and what’s going down in my bra is similar to the final scene in Tom Hanks’ Big. It seems that, while my hips and tummy kept a little extra cushion for the pushin’ post pregnancy, my boobs do not share the same fate {tear}. I have heard that once the ducts are completely dried out, many women feel that their breasts resemble shriveled up balloons or tube socks with oranges in them so time will only tell what takes place with the girls. But hey, at least I can go back to wearing those tiny tube tops I so enjoyed prior to pregnancy and should I ever be caught without proper attire, I can borrow from the nearest Junior High boy. Ahhh, the bright side of bearing bee stings.
People have inquired as to how I’m dealing with the finality of feeding my first and I must admit… I am absolutely joyful over the completion of this phase… and I think if you go back and read about my breastfeeding experiences, you may understand why I’m over it. I am ready to pack up the bottles and the pump and say peace out to nursing pads. Don’t misunderstand my message though, I have every intention of opening up shop with each child that follows however next time, I will understand the time commitment, patience and possible diet changes that go into making it all flow. If I had a crystal ball, I might guess that when I finish breastfeeding my final babe, I may have a tougher time going out of business but for now, I am good with moooovin’ on from milkin’.
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