Carnies and Cows

Over the past two days, I have been at a very interesting place, to put it nicely. I was subject to the Jefferson County Fair. Dave's family is basically maniacal about the fair, because they show cows, and never in my life have I witnessed anything like it.

I had attended the JeffCo Fair once before, BH- Before Harrison. Listen to all of the tortures I was put through: scooping up cow feces, not once but three times, getting to peasant-child level of dirty, and almost having a cow trample me. To some people, these occurrences are fun, but to me, not so much. After the first time scooping poop I decided right then and there that it would be my last trip to the fair.

Oh how wrong I was.

Dave is still needed every year to help with the fair, prepping the cows, milking them at 3am, etc etc.. so I thought I would be a very nice baby momma and go with him. I was prepared for a full two days of torture in the form of Harrison's crying. Something worse happened, though. He actually went crazy for the fair, as in, LOVED it. He loved running around in the dirt and hay, watching the cows as long as they didn't get too close, and being one with the carnies and cow-obsessed.

TOO CLOSE, TOO CLOSE

What this means for me is that now, every year, I will be forced to go back. FORCED. And in a few years, Harrison will have to (or want to) show the cows, which means I will have to help him, and that requires poop-scooping. I realize that parents have to make sacrifices for their kids, but WHY?? I cannot handle this one.

If nothing else, at least I'll get some cute pictures out of it.

I'm definitely not saying that I don't like the cows, because I do. Especially after a year of the commiseration we had. I feel for ya lady cows, lactation is no walk in the park. Yesterday, I watched one lady leak milk for over two hours and I wanted to cry for her, because I understand how uncomfortable it is. I also really enjoy milk and dairy products, so actually, I might even love the cows.

Cute from afar

I just want no part in cleaning them, wiping their asses, or collecting their BMs in a bucket. Good thing I'm marrying into a family of dairy farmers...

You're doomed, mommy

And speaking of dairy, I am officially done with breastfeeding as of yesterday. Actually not done yet, because I am about to explode with milk at the moment. I cannot move because, well, it hurts. It's been a good 50 hours without nursing. Just use your imagination. Please lord, make this torture end soon.

I probably picked a really horrible time to engorge myself because tomorrow is the big move! If my boobs don't sort themselves out by tomorrow, I'm in for a really fun, painful experience. Everyone pray. Please. Now.

Recollections of Lactation

The weaning has begun. Any male readers might want to skip this post.

So basically, it's been a pretty good run with breastfeeding. We got off to a rough start, where Harrison decided he wouldn't latch at the hospital until the very last second. At which point, they shoved us out of that place, and off we were with hardly any guidance or success.

However, we made it on our own, with the help of a nipple shield for 4 months. It was fun when I would lose that thing and Harrison would be screaming for milk, yet would not latch without it, and the closest store that sold them was 35 minutes away, and I would be crying that he was crying. Good times.

We've come so far

Once the era of the nipple shield was over, we had a pretty smooth run, until we hit the era of the biting. This was about a month ago, coinciding with the arrival of his two front teeth, so he obviously felt that he needed to bite down on anything and everything. Don't worry though, he only drew blood once, and that injury only bled for a couple days. It's fine, I'm over it. (Sarcasm... will never be over that). The sight of my pumped breastmilk with a pinkish tint from the blood, is one I will never get out of my head.

And throughout all this hardship, was the most terrible hardship of them all: when Harrison decided he was too good for a bottle. Straight from the source, only. This was quite literally like being handcuffed to my child. I couldn't leave him without the fear of him going hungry, and when I did leave, the fear of him going hungry consumed my every thought.

Psh.. I'll eat anything. I'm an angel

With all this complaining I'm doing, you would think I would be 100% ready to be done nursing. In some ways, I am, but in others I'm not. For one, I complain about being starved at all times and never being able to feel satiated, yet I'm sure as hell going to miss the calorie burning. Exercise is no friend of mine, so I have a feeling that once my nursing career is over (for now anyway), and I might be forced to work out more than once every 3 months, I'll miss BFing, a lot.

I'll also miss the closeness. As you know, Harrison hates being touched. Not just by strangers, by everyone, including his dear mother. I can't even rub his little head without him immediately grabbing my arm and forcibly taking it off his head. He's stronger than he looks. So, nursing is my only chance to cuddle/be close to him, and let's face it... I am a mush about the cuddling so I will be a little depressed that it will be gone from my life.

Despite the parts of BFing that I will miss, the things I gain definitely outweigh. One word: Caffeine.  Being able to consume as much caffeine I desire for the first time in like 21 months is extremely exciting.

Also, to be able to fit into all of my old bras is basically going to be like being freed from shackles. Now, I'm on a rotation of three bras. Let me rephrase that for you, for 11 months, I've been on a rotation of 3 bras. I'm complaining about this as if I didn't have a single penny to put towards purchasing more bras, but I could never find the same ones I have, and I was afraid of change. Listen, nursing is an uncomfortable activity and finding the right bra is essential. First world problems, I think.

I also can't wait for... and pardon me sounding like an alcoholic here.. to consume the occasional 5pm happy hour beverage. I usually wait til after Harrison's last nursing of the day, or until after I had pumped, to have a drink, but soon, I can just have one whenever I damn well please.

I am trying to keep my outlook about the end of BFing positive, and not dwell on the things I will miss. Who would have thought I would have turned into one of those addicted-to-breastfeeding crazies?

Please someone, save me from the crazy lady!

 In any case, I need to focus on the here and now, and that is the weaning process. The soreness to come is paralyzing me with terror.