For 2 solid years I have paid close attention to what I put into my body. For 9 months I was pregnant so I had restrictions on food (who knew lunch meat was so friggin' controversial?!), medications and alcohol consumption (who knew alcohol was so friggin' controverial!). Then I had a nursing baby for 14 months and similar rules applied (Yes, 14 months of breastfeeding and this is perfectly normal regardless of what you, your sister, your sister's best friend from college or your favorite celebrity mom has to say. All I can say is every baby is different and every mama is different. To each her own.).
But now all that is done, the restrictions have been lifted. I can drink as much alcohol as I want. I can use that dark circle eye cream that warns "do not use if pregnant or nursing" now. 4 Diet Cokes at 5pm will in no way affect The Boy (although I'm sure I'd be kinda messed up from that choice). It's a freedom that one can't wait to have but then is hard to go back to. I'm no longer bound to him as tightly and, I gotta say, it's rather wonderful but sad. It's bittersweet.
My boobs are no longer magical. They were never magical like Salma Hayek's (although sort of because she nursed her baby forever and then some baby from another country even). Salma Hayek has big, lovely boobs. I think we can all agree on that. Mine not so much. I mean they're in no way disgusting but I doubt John Mayer would write a song about my chest being a "wonderland" if ever given a looksy at it. My baby, however, thought they were magical. By nursing I helped him build his immune system, how cool is that? He went from tiny newborn to huge, strong baby which is also very cool. He screamed his ass off at a decibel we couldn't believe could be generated by such a tiny being...unless my boob was in his mouth. No pacifier would do. No bottle would do. A boob? That will do. If that is not a super power than I don't know what is. Sure, it'd be cool to fly like Superman but the ability to stop newborn screams with my boobs wins any day in my book (its really the worst sound on earth and honestly I'm afraid of heights). It's just too bad I can't put this on my resume.
I'm not magical anymore. The Boy woke up crying in the middle of the night from a bad dream or god knows what and I couldn't whip out my secret weapon and make it all better. Getting calm and collected just isn't as easy. We gotta work out new ways to reach Baby Zen and it doesn't always have to involve me. He needed me more than I was prepared for and now he's ready to move on. He's maturing more and more into Toddlerhood. Before I know it he'll be 12 and grossed out when I say to him, "Oh my goodness, you were a nursing fiend! You refused a bottle or pacifier, just wanted my boobs!" Like I said, it's bittersweet.
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