Ouch. No, really. Let's talk about my boobs.

What have I done to myself? It took a long time for me to decide to divorce myself from the pump and get little C. off the breast milk, but once I decided I was done, I couldn't get it over with fast enough. Which is why I sit here tonight in pain, my boobs gigantic, hotter than a fresh cup of coffee and hard enough that, could I detatch them from my body, I could easily use them as bowling balls. It ain't pretty over here, especially because my right boob is ridiculously larger than my left. It always had a little more milk, but this is a bit much. I may be prone to exaggeration, but I don't think I'm overstating that my boob is as big as Nate's head. Seriously. And it looks bizarre. I could have probably done this a little less cold turkey, but when I imagined myself hooking up to the pump for another week, month, whatever, I reached a real breaking point. Enough is enough.

I think a lot of my guilt about cutting off C's precious milk supply has subsided, and I feel like things are really going to feel normal again soon. Not that it wasn't normal before, but lugging a breast pump everywhere we went and feeling like I was shackled to it was hardly the breastfeeding experience I thought I'd have. Nevertheless, I'm really sad to see it end because this is the first time since I realized I was preggers that I won't share a physical connection with my little girl. When I was pregnant, I loved feeling like I had this little surprise inside me, this unknown factor that I was incubating until it was ready to emerge and change our lives (the world?) in some measurable way. And all these months feeding her, I felt very much like the connection continued, like I was doing something tangible to support her growth and development. I know I'll continue that in other ways from now on, I just appreciated the obviousness of it.

The other thing that has got me a bit emotional about giving up the pump is that it's such a clear indication of how much my baby is growing up. I was telling a friend the other night that I'm still mystified every second that I'm doing this--I'm a mom, isn't that wild? The change in my feelings and emotions has been profound in me, much more than I ever imagined, and I'm discovering the depths of that every day even now. Pumping (which is so strange to keep typing--I wish I could just say breastfeeding), in an odd way, was a physical manifestation of all of these intangible feelings of maternal change. I don't know how to explain it any more than that, but I felt like it was a badge that marked how different my life is now. Without my little Medela backpack to tote around, what proof do I have that I'm doing this.

I'll tell you. The proof is this amazing little girl who is walking, charming the masses, talking just a bit and becoming more of her own little self every day. She is almost one year old, and as I enjoy every second with her, I also mourn that I will never again hold her as the little newborn I brought home. It's such a psychotic feeling sometimes to be so in love with who she is, so excited for who she will become and at the same time bereft as we pass by who she has been. Sigh. I know I'm getting dramatic here--I think the giant supply of milk welling up in me is making me a little wacked out hormonal again. I'll be glad to be evening out soon.

And I'll be glad to return to blogging more about this wild mama ride when the summer settles into the new school year and I'm not so damn busy. I've been too crazy to make time for a lot of things this summer, but I'm proud of the way we've lived. OK, we're like gypsies that don't do laundry and can't sit still (my mom would say we have wheels on our butts), and we're like whores because we'll go anywhere with anyone if it sounds like it could be an adventure. But I think that's good. Clementine is a great traveler, and I hope I give her a healthy dose of wanderlust so she wants to explore the world as much as we do.

But I don't want to get ahead of myself. Right now I need to get to bed because we're off for a camping trip with newlyweds Karen and Dave. Which tent will be up all night? Hard to tell. Which up-all-night tent will be having more fun? That's easy.

I have a gazillion pics from our fabulous weekend in Chicago, but for now can only direct you to one my sister (much less lazy than I) posted. It is of Clementine passed out on the couch in front of the TV the night my mom babysat her. I was nervous about the endeavor but had little reason to be. My mom was patient with Clementine and did get her to sleep, inconvenient as it was. But then she told me that she never once changed C's diaper, but I'm trying not to think of that. Just look at how sweet she is.

I owe lots of people email (Sarah, Emily, new mama Dawn, etc.) and promise to get to it when I return from what will likely be the last trip of the summer. Internet, I have missed you and it will be good to be back in touch soon.