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The weaning of life

My wife is done breastfeeding. Let me rephrase: HP is done breastfeeding, ergo, my wife has been relieved of her duties. And as this is our alleged last offspring, this means for good. This has been met with mixed emotions, of course. The memories of HP gently stroking her chest as she ate, like the...

0705-DEV-The-Weaning-of-LifeMy wife is done breastfeeding. Let me rephrase: HP is done breastfeeding, ergo, my wife has been relieved of her duties. And as this is our alleged last offspring, this means for good.
This has been met with mixed emotions, of course. The memories of HP gently stroking her chest as she ate, like the sincerest thank you ever. Then her teeth coming in. The magical, calming aura of a mother’s bosom, and every bit of nourishment required to feed and grow this tiny creature. And then there were those teeth—so untamed and sharp.
I can’t imagine what it must be like to feed another living creature, sustain it purely from your own body. What an incredibly empowering yet demanding commitment. It is also a tiring obligation—the feeding, the pumping at work, and did I mention the teeth? It is truly something I am in awe of.
In her very accurate estimation, her body has not been her own (i.e. non-pregnant or breastfeeding) in three and a half years. Because Bub was early, she was determined to take it the full fourteen months, and did. She had every intention of doing the same with HP. But HP had other ideas.
We are in the process of moving (more on that later), so it could have had something to do with routine, but my wife said she just seemed to tire of it one day. Very cold turkey. Yeah, we had some good times, bosom, but I’ve got to be my own little person now. Peace out.
Not so fast there, missy. There are some practicalities that her rash decision did not take under consideration, namely of the caloric nature. Something had to take the place of that liquid gold in her diet. A couple months shy yet of being cow-milk ready, it was time to face a world we’d been stringently avoiding: formula.
I remember when Bub was first born—the hospital just couldn’t WAIT to ply him with Enfamil. People would come into our room every so often, drop off drums of Enfamil, along with Enfamil bottle bags, bumper stickers and t-shirts. So like anything that is over-sold to us, we were suspicious. But maybe not rightfully so.
A month now into formula and I have to admit it’s pretty awesome. Mostly because you don’t have to worry about it spoiling. You can take it out with you without ice packs.  And you can heat it up AS YOU MAKE IT, instead of listening to five minutes of hunger screams. Awesome. We started by mixing breast milk and formula, but she had no trouble just going to straight formula. I think she even spits up less (don’t tell my wife). Also, no more iron drops. Fantastic.
Yes, it is expensive. Only drawback. But it’s only for a couple more months. And my wife is mostly over the attachment piece. In fact, I think it’s kind of helped. It’s like one of those really intense, character-shaping relationships. They both learned and grew, but had to move on. Her body is starting to remember what B cups look like. And Daddy doesn’t have to warm any more bottles. Everybody weans!

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