Pulling out of Lactation Station

My fourth and last child is ten months old. I have to remind myself of this roughly every fifteen minutes. Wasn't I laying in my twin bed, praying for boobs yesterday? I thought so, but somehow an eleven year old is sitting in my kitchen baking a cake - trippy. I feel like that stoner in high school who was somehow always surprised he has hands. It's a very elementary fact in my life that I find endlessly bewildering and fascinating.

Pardon the informality, but I have breastfed every child. I'm sure at some point I would have said that with an air of superiority, but I was pretty young back then. I am old enough now to have no opinion on a whole list of things, and breastfeeding is at the top of that list...for other people anyway. I have an opinion for myself. It has to stop.

Simon, my ten month old, disagrees. Imagine being in a prison camp for ten years eating nothing but moldy rice and dirty water. Now imagine coming home to your first bite of apple pie. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, you heave an involuntary sigh of relief and delight. Happy times are hear again. This is the face Simon makes every time I feed him. Every. Single. Time. He wiggles his tiny little baby body in an effort to be even closer to me and then, as he's eating, looks up at me with love and gratitude and, while still eating, the corners of his mouth upturn and he smiles.

“Why would you want that to stop?” one might ask. The answer is because I am stone cold. Six years of having people dependent on your physical person for sustenance does that to you. There comes a point in every female life, I am sure, when you have to say “alright you pack of parasites, enough is enough”. No matter how cute the parasite, a line must be drawn at some point and for me that time is now. (note to self; potential children's book idea in there somewhere.)

But do I have my moments of regret? No.

Because the next time I wear a full length dress - or forgo the breast pads in my bra - my eyes will roll back in my head, I will heave an involuntary sigh of relief and delight.

Happy times are here again.