I wasn't prepared for just how much I would enjoy feeding Toby food. Yeah, we've been giving him some stuff to sustain those cheeks, but I mean foood food. I get such a kick from watching him crunch into a wee banana flavored puffed rice star he's shoved into his maw with both chubby hands.
Breastfeeding exclusively should be cause for an award. Not because I fulfilled some hippie overachiever mom agenda, but because it's hella time-consuming and demanding on a person.
Certain aspects of boobing a kid are easier than fooding him, sure. Solid food requires preparation, containment and cleanup. (...and cleanup.) Breastfeeding, on the other hand, requires breasts. Specific ones that only belong to my frontal area so that my presence (or frozen remnants) has been required all day every day. It's not like J is free to just roam the country all willy-nilly anymore either, but there is a weighty responsibility knowing you are expected to produce somebody's sustainance. Speaking of weighty, breastfeeding hormones are wierd and I hope that's why I've been such a sugar ho despite all sorts of attempts to lay off that particular strain of crack. I hope the weight just "falls off" like it did for a certain MIL whose name rhymes with Schmebbie.
And now let's tuck into the nut of it (so to speak- NUT, get it, it's an ALLERGEN, see?). It wasn't hard for me to breastfeed him exclusively for one simple reason: my family. My parents achieved a superhuman blend of supportiveness, endless capacity for Toby examination, and space for us to fall for Toby on our own. They also never minded futsing with frozen fluids or devising new ways to distract the hungry monkey from our delicious meals. Plus they gave me the easy moo-cow gene juju.
Also, I'd like to thank J. He's so hot, you guys. It's inspiring to me.
So here are the pics we waited twelve (or twenty-one, depending on how you're counting) months to take. Watch your fingers! He's a little nippy.