Booby Boycott

So you know how I mentioned that pretty much my only saving grace in Punky waking up every three hours is the fact that I can quickly and painlessly nurse her and put her back to sleep quickly? Yeah. Damn those blog gods, because in a stroke of coincidence and irony, she has decided she's over the Almighty Boob.

I don't know what the deal is. She's not teething. She's not sick. It's not anything I ate or didn't eat, because as soon as I pump milk, she's cool with that. It's the boob. It's my boob. She's over it.

It started a few days ago when she decided that the only proper way to nurse was by RIPPING OFF MY TIT with her six RAZOR SHARP FANGS. And then she was demanding it less and less. Cool, I thought. And then over the course of yesterday and last night, she went on complete Boob Boycott. She is on strike. She has let me no in no uncertain terms to put my milkbags away. She's a picket sign short of entirely cutting off relations with my bosom.

Thankfully, she's not totally anti-nipple. After decrying The Bottle for over four months, she's now back to that method, and totally cool with it. So basically, I'm still breastfeeding right now, using the pump as a middleman because after going overnight without nursing, I woke up with Pam Anderson Boobs of Agony and a drenched shirt. Freaking sweet.

I'm sorry to probably 2/3 of my readers (that's 2 of the 3 people that read my blog) who really don't care about this, or my breasts. But smile and know that I think I'm going to get a little deeper than the usual poop jokes over the next month. WAHOO, NaBloPoMo!