On Sunday, B and I decided that it's time for me to give up nursing. The little dude just wasn't into it any more. He would nurse for a couple of minutes (fussing the whole time), then pull off and start crying. I don't know if he wasn't getting enough, wasn't getting it fast enough, or some combination of both. Even when he would nurse, he'd still act hungry when he was done and would take a four ounce bottle...obviously something wasn't working for him. Even though I hated nursing, I'm still - inexplicably - a little sad to be done. And I feel horribly guilty about it. I was really hoping to make it to at least six months, which was still far short of my original goal of a year, but this is really going to be best for all of us.
In case you were wondering, drying up your milk supply sucks. My boobs are rock hard, sore, and leaking. If I ever thought I might escape the curse of mom boobs, I know better now. Hell, I'll be lucky to get out of this without stretchmarks, at this rate. The ladies currently look like bad, bad, uneven implants. And did I mention they hurt? A stiff breeze blowing in the wrong direction is enough to almost take me down right now, and holding the baby is pure torture. He keeps squirming his hands, elbows, feet, head, and other assorted body parts into my poor mammaries. It's so bad that I would give just about anything for the sweet relief that comes from letting the baby nurse. But I've been strong and haven't caved to my desire to be milked. I cannot wait until this passes.