I have stopped breast feeding Nancy. And I feel disproportionally emotional about it.
Especially given that she's got six teeth now, so it's a bit like being attacked by a human version of one of the grabber machines on Brighton Pier. And that coupled with her pinching my other boob, and holding the skin tightly in her fist while feeding, was starting to make it an all round torturous experience.
I guess I feel sad because, really, she's no longer dependent on me. Anyone can give her milk from a bottle, or feed her cottage cheese.
But I was the only one to breastfeed her. Obviously. This isn't The Hand That Rocks The Cradle.
Saturday was the last feed. I tried to lock it memory, but it was 5.30am and she was doing some kind of downward dog move while clamped down on my boob, so to be honest I was quite relieved when she'd finished.
But then it was over. And I realised I will never feed her like that again.
I just need to remind myself that it's not like it was when she was tiny, and I used to feed her till she nodded off at the pictures. All warm with a milk drunk face.
Now she kind of takes aim and throws her head at me, often ending in tears if she misses and catches a rib instead.
And she's going to be one in two weeks. So it seems like the right time for her.
One of the consequences of not breastfeeding, is that I obviously don't need as many calories.
So I think I'm going to have to either crank up the number of minutes I sit off with the slendertone electrocuting me, buy some kind of horrendous fitness video where you watch a Z list celebrity who actually had a gastric band tell you how to do plunges, or resume the jog of shame in my pyjamas around the park.
While visiting the in-laws I had a bash on their WII fitness game. Well, I tried to. Nancy went mental every time I stood on the plastic white thing, so I ended up having to hold her while air hoola hooping. And standing on one leg was a bit tricky, while the computer worked out my fitness age.
Anyway. Turns out its in the region of 48. Which isn't ideal, seeing as I'm 34 in a couple of weeks.
I was also going to write a strongly worded email to Weight Watchers about how ineffective their website was, and how, I'm actually fatter, thanks to them, (and a bit thanks to the volume of cheese I eat and the 'glass' of red wine a night, that's out of a vase sized vessel so is more like 3/4 a bottle.)
I was kind of sticking to the points they'd recommended. But getting heavier and heavier each week.
And then I realised that it's because I'm eating as if I've got a new born baby. One that needs feeding every hour, instead of a token gesture in the morning. And I hadn't altered the settings on my profile.
So now it turns out I'm meant to be eating half what I have been doing.
It's almost worth having another baby just so I can eat a guilt free king size Mars bar a day.