Okay, okay, okay, My Boobs are Calling Uncle!
If you've been around these parts long enough, you'll have me firmly pigeoned in the hippie-granola-dust-parenting hole. I'm the kind of neurotic, cloth diapering, amber baby necklace buying, organic leather soft shoe dressing, homemade baby food making, babywearing, exclusive breastfeeding, co-sleeping, gentle disciplining, nutcase that makes you shake your head and worry for the future of humanity.
Though now, suddenly, I think I've found my hippie-BS-granola-fairy-dust parenting limit. And that limit is a 27 month old toddler, who upon watching me get out of the shower this morning, pointed at my naked chest and proclaimed, Della's ammm ammm. You see, she thinks she owns my boobies.
This type of behaviour is not limited to the privacy of our home. If she's feeling particularly jaunty, and comfortable with the company we're keeping, she likes to show off her goods, by pulling down my shirt, tapping me right on the money parts, and saying "Wook! Della's ammm ammm, sees?" Or, perhaps she's feeling uneasy in the silence of an elevator ride. She'll turn to a stranger, point to my chest, and tell him, "Ammm Ammm". And PS, it's almost always a him. A him in a business suit, the kind that announces that all things hippie-granola-dust are most decidedly not his jam.
You see, my girl is still nursing, at least three times a day. And if she had her way, she'd be permanently attached to my chest, drinking while twisting and turning, double back flip pike position, until my ol' nips returned to their war-ravaged newborndom, and I cried uncle while clutching a tube of Lansinoh. Oy.
What I'm trying to tell you is I want to wean my kid. But she has other ideas. Namely, never weaning, ever ever ever.
I'm kinda left at a loss for what to do. I've looked around the usual haunts for tips and tricks on weaning my girl off ammm amm. But to no avail. She'll quite happily eat all sorts of solid foods, varied and sundry, but she will not give up on her most treasured source of nutrition and comfort.
So, I'm left wondering if I should try something radical. Perhaps the Japanese method of weaning whereby I affix band-aids to my nips, draw a Minnie Mouse face on my boob, and tell my kid that her Amm Amm has been replaced, but look who's here instead?!! Mimmmmie Mouse!
Or, do I go with the Indonesian practice of rubbing bitter herbs all over my chest? Perhaps the failsafe Turkish method of spreading tomato paste on my tas?
Do I just need to go on vacation for a while, with a box of Sudafed and some cabbage in my bra, and return when I'm all dried up?
Or perhaps, and most likely, I just need to woman up, take it like a chick, deal with the occasional awkward elevator moment, and just wait until my child finally decides that she's ready to kick the habit. Oh geeze. Pass me the Lansinoh.
In the interest of full disclosure, I was paid to write this post on behalf of Lansinoh.co.uk. All content, opinions, and hyperbole are mine, and mine alone.