Easy Does It

One of the most memorable things that I will take away from my sister's visit was a comment that she made while I was nursing Jed.

She said, "Why not look at breastfeeding him as a way of just stopping and taking it easy, rather than looking at it as an interruption to all the things that need to be done."

So that's what I'm doing.

Breastfeeding has not been easy for me.  I committed to it for six weeks, longer than any of the other children.  I've made it past that point, and I'm ecstatic!  Because of physical roadblocks, none of the other children were b/f for more than a month.  And I was okay with that after the initial disappointment and guilt faded.


Jed has been easier to nurse.  My milk comes and goes at times, but for the most part he gets enough.  I'm doing what I call "hybrid feeding", which pretty much means that I give him a couple ounces of formula if he's still irritable after two hours of nursing and chewing on me.  Yes, two hours.  He's gone that long at one time.

But I still find myself impatient, irritable and not entirely happy nursing him.  Sounds horrible, right?  Everything I read tells me that this is supposed to a wonderful experience for both mother and child, that we should be bonding in blissful harmony around the areola of my boob.  But in reality, it hurts a lot, I'm sore all the dang time and let's face it -- feeding every 2 1/2 to 3 hours really slows me down when I have four other kids to raise.

It's hard, tiresome work and I find myself thinking that formula is much easier.

Of course, my reasons are all selfish reasons, centered on what works best for me and how it would make my life easier.  For that reason, I'm still plodding along, putting the little guy first and continuing to breastfeed, even though it's not the glorious experience that I expected.

Then we come back to what my sister said during her visit last week.  I keep saying that in my head, a mantra to motherhood that sustains me when my nipples feel like they're the latest patient to undergo electroshock therapy.  And when I look down at his sweet face, all serene and fat and happy, I do feel a little bit of what the experts say I should.

That is, until he starts pulling on me like I'm ElastaGirl again.