Y’all, two big things happened this week.

1. I weaned Wrenn. Completely. No more nursing.

2. I went on a diet. A good, old-fashioned, count your calories and work out diet. Nothing fancy.

And boy am I hungry.

But first, the weaning.

After Christmas I went down to just three feedings a day. Then dropped to two a few weeks ago. Then one… just a nighttime feeding. I knew the full weaning would come sooner than later. My goal had been to hit nine months (which is today), and to get Baby Girl through flu season. Part of me has been scared that the minute I wean her, she’d get sick.

It was so much more emotional than I could have ever anticipated. Like, I cried, y’all… several times last week as I nursed her to sleep, wondering if it would be the last time. I kept praying that God would show me when it’s time to stop. I worried that I was stopping for selfish reasons. I’m ready to have my body back. I’m ready to never pump again. I’m ready… but the readiness all seemed to be about me.

Over the past few weeks, I realized Wrenn was ready too. The reason I dropped my morning feeding was because she just wasn’t interested. Some mornings she would completely snub nursing, or nurse for less than five minutes and then lose interest. So I followed her cues and stopped.

In the last few weeks, after nursing her at night, she was waking up starving around 5:00 a.m. Mr. Right would get up and make a bottle, drop it in her crib (yes, I realize this goes against all the baby books and makes us horrible parents, but guys… we are TIRED) and she would go back to sleep. On the nights we gave her a bottle before bed, she slept better. I don’t think I was making enough to keep her full.

Then she started biting me. She would look me in the eye, smile the most mischievous smile ever, then slowly lean in and BITE ME while maintaining eye contact. She thought it was the most fun game ever. I tried sternly saying no – it made her cry, but it didn’t make her stop. I tried pulling her in close (a trick that makes it impossible to bite), but again, it made her cry without changing her behavior.

And that’s when I realized… nursing her was causing BOTH of us stress. Unnecessary stress. It had gone from a sweet bonding experience to something that was causing friction, something that could easily be solved with a bottle. SHE was ready. I was ready.

And so I stopped. Just like that, I stopped.

I’m trying not to think about how much I will miss it… because I will. With our plans to adopt, this may be my only baby to ever nurse. And it was such a beautiful experience. I LOVED it more than I ever thought I would. I will miss it. It means the end of a chapter in my life, the one where I became a mother for the first time.

Instead I’m trying to focus on all the good parts of weaning. For the first time in two years if I get sick, I can take medicine. If I am tired, I can drink that extra cup of coffee. I can burn my nursing bra, put away the nursing tanks and go back to regular clothes. I may go wild and wear something STRAPLESS.

I am focusing on the good things, the fun things this new chapter of Wrenn’s life is bringing. The crawling, the (almost) talking, the new foods she gets to try. I am focusing on the good. This is the most fun stage YET.

I am also focusing on the last few pounds I have left to lose from this pregnancy, now that I can truly diet again. I’ve dropped several in the past 10 days, thanks to my new spin bike and counting calories through My Fitness Pal. I don’t love it. I’m hungry ALL THE TIME. But I do love watching the scale tick down, closer to my goal. Ten more pounds to go before I hit my pre-pregnancy weight, and then another five or so before I hit my ultimate goal. I can do this. I can do this. SOMEONE GIVE ME A CUPCAKE. No, I can do this.

So, dear friends, I need two things from you: please leave me either (1) encouragement about life post-weaning, or (2) a link to your favorite low-calorie recipe on Pinterest. Something that will fool me into thinking I’m eating a bacon cheeseburger but will only cost me 300 calories on My Fitness Pal. Those things exist, right?

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