One week from today, I go back to work full-time. There’s no transitioning in period; I go back fulltime, cold turkey.

I have arranged my hours, my transit pass, my childcare (and honestly, everyone needs a nanny), and refilled my zoloft. The Poptart has weaned, cold turkey. Next week, we are going stateside for a day, I think, to do some shopping as both Darren and I need new clothes.

A few weeks ago, I was pretty much done with breastfeeding. My goal had been to breastfeed through flu season (end of February) and anything beyond that was just gravy.

I am an only child. I am used to having my own space and I enjoy my own company. Of course, I enjoy the Poptart’s company more, but I needed some space. Although we were down to one or two nursing sessions per day, I was just done. I wanted my body back. I was tired of wearing a bra or nursing tank at night. I wanted to be able to exercise without feeling like I had to bind myself with duct tape.

So one morning in March, I just didn’t offer and gave the Poptart some eggs and oatmeal with prunes instead. And she didn’t ask to nurse. She had a bottle a bit later and we snuggled, and she fell asleep in my arms like she usually does.

And that, as they say, was that. I expect she would have nursed if I had offered but she seemed content with snuggling and having a bottle. I expressed to relieve pressure and broke out the pump once when it looked like I had a blocked duct.

About 10 days later, our Nanny arrived. I had to get used to someone else living in my house, cold turkey. This, of course, was made easier by the fact that I didn’t have to clean much any more. But it is kind of weird that there’s someone living in the house that does the cleaning that isn’t me.

This week, I don’t stop cooking entirely, but Monday through Thursday, dinner will be made for us, allowing me to spend time with the Poptart when I get home. I just make sure the groceries are in the house.

And that, as they say, is that. Cold turkey.