I enjoyed the extra 500 or so calories that breastfeeding gave me. Really enjoyed. Alot.

It’s cruel, really. Not only am I no longer receiving my happy hormones but I have to eat less food as well? Just rotten.

I resent the fact that I actually have to think about what I’m eating now instead of being able to stuff my face at whim.

There are a couple of perks though. I am no longer a hungry, ravenous beast when I get back from the gym and because I am paying attention to what I’m eating, I’m not just inhaling, I’m actually enjoying it more.

But even so, once you add it up it’s not great. No happy hormones. No extra food. I get to experience the pain of my cycle again. I actually have to get out of bed to feed the squish ball in the middle of the night and I have to take five million things with me whenever I leave the house. Not enthused.

The only thing that’s making me think this isn’t the worst decision I ever made is the thought of three nights ALONE at the end of March.

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I ache, from the weaning. Mostly at night. In more ways than one.

By the end of the week the weaning will be done and I look forward to that as much as I don’t. At least it will be finished then. I won’t have to think about it.

She bit me twice last night while feeding and not even that could make me feel grateful for weaning. That’s when you know you are in difficult territory.

She doesn’t seem to mind that much at least. And that is something. That is something to hold on to.

I didn’t even think about weaning Riley that much I just did it. I don’t think it’s the weaning that bothers me that much at all. Or it does. But more than that it represents all the time I will be spending away from her.

And it aches.

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