Crossing enemy lines.

Well... after ten months, it's been a good fight. My beautiful 36C's have served faithfully, and have surrendered themselves to a lifetime of floppy pancakes (unless A. decides he really loves me and gives me a new set). And now, it's time to raise the white flag.

I'm drying up. Fast.

And because Punky still likes her morning and nighttime boobing (and occasionally middle of the night boob when she absolutely won't go back to sleep), it looks like I'm going to have to cross enemy lines into Formula Territory. The enemy has been identified, and unfortunately, we're going to have to join forces:


Yep. Punky's jumping on the Formula Wagon.

My right boob is completely dried up. Nothing but Sahara Desert happening in ol' righty, who never could keep up with her assymetrically talented Lefty sister, but even Lefty's failing us now. I thought maybe I could gimp along on one boob til Punky hit the one year mark in February (and ultimately by-passed cold and flu season with Mommy Immunities), but I don't think it's going to happen. So I'm going to jump on formula while I can still transition her.

Hard to believe I'm as disappointed with this as I am, considering nine months ago, I fucking hated breastfeeding. I was constantly leaking, my nipples were chapped and sore, and I just had this whiny little THING constantly demanding I rip my shirt open. I had to wear a bra to bed, I couldn't wear a normal bra (since in about an hour, whatever bra I was wearing would no longer fit), and did I mention leaking?

But after a while, I realized the practicality of it all. Punky was tired? Boob. Hungry? Boob. Pissed off? Hurt? Scared? Boob, boob, boob. And I'll even give into the Boob Nazi ridiculousness of mother-child bonding... because in those quiet moments of me and Punky (okay, not all were quiet and peaceful, occasionally I was popping a squat in a Wal-Mart bathroom stall, whatever), I realized that GOD, I loved this little kiddo attached to the teet. Sometimes I felt like just an object for food and nothing more, "BOOB" rather than "Mommy", but eventually... shit, I'll say it, I really enjoyed it.

So there's the end of that. Within another month or so, Punky'll be fully on formula (not for long, thankfully, before we're moving on to regular milk), my boobs will return back to their rightful owner, and A. can enjoy them as he pleases without getting splashed in the face.

Which is far creepier and weirder than you'd initially think. I'm just sayin'.