But I do kinda sorta tend to think that breastfeeding SUCKS BIG EGGS and I do not enjoy it one bit.
I do not enjoy breast pads. I do not enjoy nursing tops. I do not enjoy pulling my shirt over my head while a little tyrant screams bloody murder because I AM NOT DOING IT FAST ENOUGH, DAMMIT.
I do not feel bonded, or awash in maternal love. I feel slightly used, maybe violated even, and awash in breastmilk. Stinky, sticky breastmilk that leaves big cold wet spots everywhere.
Plus, my little tyrant is not such a strong swallower. She gags, she chokes, she blows milk out her nose. She makes awful screeching sounds like a baby bald eagle and then she blows cheesy breast milk curds all over me. Sometimes all over my nipple, as she doesn't bother to excuse herself and pull off before she vomits.
See, the thing no one tells you when they tell you motherhood is a full time job is that breastfeeding is its own full time job. I easily spend eight hours a day breastfeeding - which is why I have been executing covert operations with my breastpump for a while now. I've been building a freezer surplus in hopes of eventually liberating my body from the ball and chain that is this baby of mine.
The sweetest, cutest, most lovable wonderful ball and chain, I mean.
Last Friday, I decided it was Time. I pumped while the tyrant napped. I transferred the milk to a tommee tippee bottle, handed it to Husband....and suddenly, in spite of myself, I wanted that bottle back. As much as I wanted to be free, it broke my heart to hand that bottle over. My little girl was going to get her first meal from somebody else. What if she didn't need me anymore? What if all I was to her was a big dairy bar and if she could get it elsewhere, that was fine by her? SHE IS GROWING UP AND LEAVING ME!
But, tears in my eyes, I let it happen. I knew it was for the best. And what do you know, it worked!
She took the bottle like a champ. And another one Saturday. And another one Sunday. I even got to drink two and a half beers on the 4th of July! The world is my oyster. With one "relief bottle" planned per day, I can choose when to use it. It's like having the get out of jail free card. Or the free spin on Wheel of Fortune. Or whatever game analogy you like. I can use it for the 5 am feeding, or if I'm feeling spry at 5 I can wait and use it in the evening when I might feel like having a little extra beverage. Huzzah for bottles!
P.S. I must add that although she is looking at her father in this picture, she spent most of that first bottle looking over at me. I love you, too, little tyrant.
3 comments:
I want more pictures in clothes from Auntie.
Breastfeeding is horrifyingly painful. They should tell moms that, so they won't give up because they think they're doing it wrong. If you can stand the first six weeks of torture concentrate, you can make it.
I like that picture of Iceman and his little princess
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