This is the day my baby and my tata’s part ways.
It happened much faster than I anticipated, she’s only 8 months and I’ve always nursed at least ten. I love nursing this baby. She’s sweet, she loves me, she wants to be close and cuddly and will snack as long as I’ll let her get away with it. But there are some things that even all her cuteness cannot trump (and no, I’m not referring to her jealous father): teeth. Three. New. Teeth. Yesterday.
For the record, we’ve had a number of false alarms, where I thought her teeth were through/almost through/moments away from appearing through. But the actual gum breakage? Yesterday.
Oh holy tiger cub, I cannot do this.
I know what you’re thinking, women all over the world have nursed tooth encrusted babies for centuries. But what you don’t know is the result of that nursing. I am convinced that if you looked under their shirts you would find those poor women are forever maimed and scarred and partially traumatized for the rest of their lives. (Husbands hate traumatized wives, BTW.)
Exhibit A is going to be literal since I’m pretty sure the internet couldn’t handle a photo. My daughter broke two bottom teeth about three weeks ago. Shortly after, she broke me (please do not make me explain this). For two weeks I’ve been nursing her while simultaneously trying desperately to make my girls heal between feedings.
I’ve tried bag balm, A&D, Boobie ointment, Lansinoh, Neosporin, Liquid Band-Aid, rubber cement–there is no help. She nurses four times a day, but battle wounds need more than a few hours if there is any hope of recovery. And forget the nipple shield this time around, it’s the most miserable messy thing ever. I will not change my clothes four times a day because of flooding.
Yesterday was particularly brutal. I couldn’t figure out why until I looked in her mouth and saw those three glaring white spots on top. And let me tell you, there’s no tongue to shield me from those little blades.
It’s incredible how quickly our feelings about a baby can change from “I wuv you,” to “OH MY GOSH GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME.”
I know we’re supposed to love and treasure our last mothering moments. I wish I could hold her in my arms, look down in her dimply little face, and cry about our last feeding. But I guess if I felt that way I wouldn’t be ready to wean her.
You know you’re ready for the next phase when you feel hopeful about the potty chair. Or when they draw blood.
I think we need to see the evidence. I don’t believe it until I see it. I need to see a picture of Osama shot in the head, or your boobs.
Yup, my boys broke me all around, on both sides. I wanted to cry because I couldn’t quit nursing cold turkey, (see above, twins, engorgement, infection) and every time they latched there was that first moment of “yeeouch”.
My son turned one two weeks ago, I’ve been trying to quite nursing for almost two months. He doesn’t have any teeth, he is just so…ATTACHED. Not in a good way. (Is there ever a good way?) Anyway, he hates taking bottles, doesn’t matter if it was milk, formula, anything. We’re working on weaning, but that kid is strong, and its hard when you’re out in public and the baby is screaming and trying to get his face inside your shirt. So fun.
That is one cute baby you have there, btw. With each of my boys I nursed a little longer. 15 months for the last one. But at each change I was totally ready to move on. Sounds like you are there too. And once the last baby is here and weaned, by gosh, you get your body back. It feels awesome! Best wishes.
“Or when they draw blood” – had me clutching my chest & roaring till tears poured down my cheeks. Yep, we definitely know when it’s time to be done!
Hopefully the girls will heal quickly. You’ve totally got my empathy vote.
Nursed #1 for 12 months, nursed #2 for 32 months. Never got bitten. No blood, no scars, no pain. So trust me, it is possible!
Well good luck with the “drying up” period.
Congrats on getting your tatas back.