Week 187- feeding, fretting and an end of an era...

Hello mastitis, my old friend. 

Has no-one told you that YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BOTHER WOMEN WITH ONE YEAR OLD CHILDREN?

TWICE?!

As I lay in bed with a temperature of 40c, radiating heat whilst simultaneously chattering my teeth off, I decided enough was enough.

I was going to stop feeding.

I lied about how old my son was when discussing methods of relieving the pain on a parenting forum. All the other women who were suffering were feeding their two-week old babies. It felt ridiculous to say my boy was virtually walking and can eat a chicken wing unaided and I’m STILL getting mastitis.

On the plus side, this now means I can:

Go out on the piss and not have to extract the last moisture from my body by breast pumping an evening of double gins resulting in looking more dehydrated than a fig.

Wear dresses, because, lets be fair, no-one wants to have to hoik up their dress over their waist to feed their baby even if it is in the comfort of their own home.

Bin my disgusted collection of milk-encrusted, fraying, greying maternity bras.

The thing is through, I feel really sad about it, (stopping feeding. Not the bras.)

The feeling just crept up on me.

On day one of no longer feeding him it started as a niggle. That unsettling feeling like you’ve forgotten something. I just put it down to the fact that we probably had actually forgotten something as we haemorrhage our belongings wherever we go so the chances are I’d left a coat/ doll/ pair of socks/ dirty nappy somewhere throughout the course of the day.

But by the morning of day two, I got the full on, punch-in-the-face impact of the realisation that I will never breastfeed a baby again.

And that it had stopped so abruptly that I hadn’t even had chance to say goodbye to that part of my life.

He doesn’t need it anymore, I get it. It was only going to get harder for him to stop.

And let’s be honest, there’s nothing glamorous about sitting on the floor in front of a mirror in a pair of pants putting your make-up on when a one-year-old scales your back, pops his head under your armpit and starts feeding.

But when I stopped feeding my daughter, I knew we would hopefully have another child in the future.

We don’t intend to have any more.

So three nights ago, when I cradled my boy in my arms, when the wiggliest one-year-old closed his eyes, fed and feel asleep on me, I didn’t realise that would be the last time ever.

That that part of motherhood had just ended. That it was the end of an era.

So tonight I’m going to raise a gin to wave goodbye to that chapter. Actually, I’m going to have several cos I bloody well can now.

Quick plea...

If you enjoy my blog, please could spare two minutes to vote for my blog in a couple of awards….

I’ve been shortlisted for the Brit Mums Brilliance in Blogging Awards in the writer category, the link is here; http://www.britmums.com/2015/04/vote-for-you-favourite-bloggers-bibs2015/ the writer category is number 7, and my blog's called You Can Take Her Home Now… (www.youcantakeherhomenow.co.uk)

Secondly, the MAD awards have just opened, I’ve been a finalist three times in the writing category, and it would be fab to be there again, the link to that is: http://www.tots100.co.uk/nominate-in-the-2015-mad-blog-awards/ (The writer category is second from the bottom on the second screen after you’ve nominated your blog of the year.)

Thanks! x