Today is Little S’s half birthday.

Happ birt, as my dad would say. #dadjokes

To say I’m proud of my little dinosaur today would be an understatement. I am beyond thrilled that he is happy and healthy considering the scare he gave us. He’s a smiley, giggly, toothy, blue-eyed little man and we are so happy that he is now a part of our crazy family.

So today we are celebrating this milestone, but I am also celebrating for a different reason.

Today is the day I get my body back. Today is the day I stop breastfeeding. I know that sounds mean to take away his boobs on his birthday but I’ve been waiting for this day since he started chomping my nipples.

Let me put this in perspective for you. I became pregnant with Baby J in May 2016. I breastfed J until the day I found out I was pregnant with Little S, when J was 9 months. I have breastfed Little S for 6 months. That’s a total of 32 months.

32 Consecutive months.

32 Months of always thinking about what I was eating and drinking, of wearing easy-access clothes, of worrying about leaky boobs in public, of pumping in my spare time, of not feeling like my body was my own.

I didn’t have easy breastfeeding journeys with either of my boys. With J the first 6 weeks were spent juggling frozen cabbage leaves, hot compresses and a nipple puller every couple of hours to try to squeeze out as much as possible, while with S it was easier but there was more blood. Fun times.

Of course I feel guilty for stopping. I feel guilty for not loving breastfeeding like I’m told I should, for not breastfeeding until my kids are teenagers, for not appreciating the magic that my boobs can make.

Call me selfish if you must, but I’m doing this for me. I’m doing this for my sanity, my mental health and for the hope that one day my boobs will stop hanging around with my knees.

So Happ Birt, little man. And happy day to me.

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