Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder

I now know where the term "over the shoulder boulder holder" comes from and it's not as much fun as it sounds.  The "boulders" I find myself carrying around are causing me neck pain, back pain, and my already horrible posture has gone from bad to worse.  I really can't fathom why women would pay to increase their breast size and endure this for the rest of their lives.  Then again, I'm not the one being paid millions to do so.  I digress. 

Before Alex was even born I knew I wanted to breast feed for at least 6 months.  Now, 6 months later, I've achieved that goal plus I've managed to stock-up over 100 bags in the freezer in the hopes she'll be well supplied into 7 months.  Since my goal has been reached I've slowly been trying to teach my body not to produce any more milk which, as it turns out, is a slow and sometimes painful process.

I have to be honest about one thing, though, which is I don't breast feed in the traditional sense and rather I pump 100% of the time.  When Alex was born she weighed 5 pounds 2 ounces which, considering she was 5 weeks early, was pretty healthy but still small.  Combine her small size with my, how shall I say, gazongas (yes, that's the technical term and, if I may, quoting the hospital lactation consultant, "I have no doubt those puppies will be producing milk soon.") we had problems learning how to work together and properly breast feed.  After a few unsuccessful sessions in the hospital with the lactation consultants we found ourselves at home to figure it out on our own.  Side note: Someone once remarked that they felt violated by these women who come in and grab your breast in one hand and the baby in the other to which I responded "you did give birth, right?"  Anyway, at home we persevered trying to figure it out all while pumping so that Alex could at least get breast milk from the bottle.  Eventually, each attempted breast feeding session would end with a hungry, screaming, particularly pissed-off baby, and an equally frustrated mother.  One thing led to another and I found myself pumping all of the time.  While a small part of me regrets missing out on the bonding that comes with breastfeeding in the end it doesn't bother me too much because I know I gave her exactly what she needed without taking the easy route by giving her formula.

So, here we are, and I really do feel like I'm carrying two, hard boulders strapped to my chest.  I'm completely over having to wear a bra 24/7 and I'm completely over not being able to wear most of my tops (I went from a 34B to a 38E).  And, Lord, when the bra does come off I have to be sure and check to see if Lasagna is underfoot because I don't want to have to explain her untimely demise to PETA:  "I know what you're thinking and I swear it's not what it looks like.  All I did was take my bra off and my boobs fell down and struck the cat on the head killing her immediately."  The press would have a field day with that one:  "Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder Murder!"  "Killer Knockers Kill Kitty!"  "Feline Found Dead, Flopping Breasts to Blame."

With any luck you won't be hearing about me in the paper anytime soon.  Unless Pam Anderson wants to have a boob off.