So when I went to the doctor a few weeks ago, she was going to give me an order for a mammogram–just a baseline mammogram, my first–because I am high-risk and should have gotten one a couple years ago.  She said, “You haven’t been breastfeeding in the last twelve months, have you?”

“Well, technically,” I said, “I’m still breastfeeding.”

I swear the woman rolled her eyes–which is fine, I mean, I could tell she was trying not to, and my lifestyle was seriously impinging on her preventative care paradigm, as it’s no use getting a mammogram while your mammaries are full of milk.  I assured her I was trying to quit, that I was very close, in fact, that surely within the month I would be done altogether.  “How often does she nurse these days?” she asked.

“Only once or twice a day.”

I swear, at the time it was not a lie.  That week she really was only nursing once or twice a day.  But to continue, the doctor said that if it was that little, I should only have to wait three or four months after weaning before I could get a mammogram.  But I really needed to get one because I was high risk and overdue.  I said I was so very sure I was going to be done any day now because I was ready and I was pretty sure the baby was ready, or rather, getting ready–she should really be ready any day now.  Any day now I was going to stop nursing her and she was going to be fine with it.  It had to happen. 

“Yes,” the doctor said, “but it’s a lot harder to do when they get older.”

Okay, fine.  Tell me about it, lady.  It’s a month later and not only is she not all done, she has gone back to nursing three or four times a day, and is it just me, or have her teeth gotten sharper?  Ouch.  Yes, she is nursing right now.  Why do you ask?

I really want to wean her.  I have things to do.  A vacation with my husband to go on, a mammogram to get, a decent bra to wear–seriously, I am nothing if not highly motivated.  So why isn’t it happening? 

Because I’m weak and she’s evil, that’s why!

Oh, what a world, what a world.  I have a confession to make:  I used to say to myself on a regular basis that I would never breastfeed a child beyond eighteen months.  I couldn’t even imagine doing such a thing.  My first two children weaned themselves at fifteen months and seventeen months respectively, and they were so independent after that, I couldn’t see nursing them then even if I wanted to (which I didn’t).  Then I had Elvis, and for a while I thought he might be my last baby because…oy.  So I kept nursing him because he kept wanting to nurse, and when I actually got pregnant again, I was still nursing him because he still wanted to nurse–until it became clear that I had to wean him or die.  When you know your life is on the line, you can do amazing things.  Also, my mother-in-law happened to be visiting at the time, so ran interference for me a lot.  I wish my mother-in-law was here right now.  Instead, my husband is going out of town for four days.  Oh, snap!

So I’ve been prenant or nursing for the last five and a half years.   IT MUST END.  I’m not interested in getting pregnant again (no offense, honey), and my mother-in-law isn’t due for another visit until May, when she comes to watch the kids while Sugar Daddy and I gallavant across state lines–and my baby has no intention of giving up her human pacifier any time soon, so…what?  What can I do?  I must use strategy.  I just gave her a sippy cup filled with chocolate milk, and she didn’t even ask for chocolate milk.  That goes against every principle I have as a parent!  Okay, not really.  It really only goes against one principle, which is Don’t Raise The Bar–but in this case I think we can make an exception.  Except that she doesn’t want any chocolate milk!  Whoever heard of a kid not wanting chocolate milk?  It’s Misfits of Science hour at the Madhousehold!  What am I supposed to do now?  What?  What???

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