Let's talk about my boobs, shall we?

In the early days of Joshua’s life, I was fortunate enough to skip the initial engorgement phase of breastfeeding that sends some women running for the hills because my little guy was trying so desperately to suck every last drop of life from me lest he wither away to a mere 8 pounder. I remember my boobs feeling a little more full and thinking to myself “huh…this isn’t so bad…”. Famous last words.

Two nights ago, my little Chunk decided to sleep through the night.

(Let’s take a moment to revel in this glorious occasion, mmkay??)

We put him down at 10:30, like always, and at 2:15, he let out the biggest fart I’ve ever heard in my life. I thought “Hmm…he’s probably going to wake up now.” But he didn’t. At 3:15, he made some more gassy noises and I thought “Hmmm…I should go make a bottle.” But the noises stopped and so I didn’t go make that bottle. At 4:15, I heard even more gassy noises and thought “Man, if he gets up now, I hope Dan doesn’t mind that he probably won’t be able to go back to sleep.” But the Gaseous Wonder went right on back to Sleepyland. Until 6:00a.m.

When I woke up my boobs felt like they were attached to my body but not part of my body. I did not think my boobs could feel so ridiculously hard. They really felt like separate entities with minds of their own. At any minute, they could’ve taken over a small country. They hurt so bad I couldn’t even hold Joshua to my chest to carry him to the nursery to change his diaper. It.was.awful. (Luckily, I didn’t soak a set of sheets during this debacle, causing an even bigger pileup of laundry. Thank God I’m not a leaker!)

So, when my little guy decides he’s ready to sleep through the night again, I’ll be getting up to pump because I do not EVER want to feel that again. EVER.