Weaning

Weaning is bittersweet.

On one hand, I’ve had enough of breast pads, nursing bras, milk storage bags and all the breastfeeding paraphernalia and am looking forward to tossing them into the back of my wardrobe.

I’m raring to finally detach myself from my breast pump, which I have been faithfully toting on my back to and from work, like a turtle carrying its shell.

I’m more than ready to give up washing pump parts over and over again, both in the office restrooms throughout the day and at home, in the dead of the night.

Coco, on the other hand, may miss her playthings once I’m done with them.

Wasn't yet 2 and already such a know-it-all.

Wasn’t yet 2 and already such a know-it-all.

My husband, though, is shamelessly looking forward to having his playthings back.

Once they’re weaned, there’s no turning back. It’s the point of no return.
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