Monday, October 16, 2006
I hate breastfeeding. There. I said it.
Why do so many of the other moms I've met claim to love it? What's wrong with them? I don't understand. Clearly, they are lying to me.
I know it's meant to be all natural-like, and that it's the best food for babies (this is the only reason that I breastfeed Mae, out of guilt, because I feel like I otherwise wouldn't be doing the best thing for her). But, oh my God. Nobody told me how much it would hurt; how bony a baby's mouth can be, even without any teeth in there; how my nipples would ache; how grouchy it would make me.
The books I read, back when Mae was just Pushkin, all said that if you were doing it correctly, breastfeeding was painless. So, I was very hopeful, at first, that we were just doing it wrong. We saw two different lactation consultants in the hospital though, and they both confirmed that she was latched right, and both times I was in tears. And, I'll admit, it's gotten a bit better since then, but it still hurts, and every time another three hours rolls around and Mae makes smacky lips at me, I say (trying to pretend like I'm joking, so as not to hurt her feelings) "Oh no, Mae!! Is that Eat-Face AGAIN?"
But now that I've complained, I'll admit this too: There are some neat things about breastfeeding. First, it's weird that my boobs are suddenly useful for something. It's also very comical (if you're into that particular kind of comedy) how sometimes, when they are full enough with milk, it will just squirt out in random directions, almost like a mostly-broken sprinkler. And - by far - the neatest part is that it's the one thing that only I can do for Mae, and it is nice to be needed.
Still, I will not be one of those mothers who has a mini mourning session when it's time to hang up the nursing bras and bring out the solid foods. In fact, I'm looking forward to the days when I can fit back into my littler, prettier bras and Mae can go to town making ick faces and throwing spoonfuls of mashed veggies about.
I know it's meant to be all natural-like, and that it's the best food for babies (this is the only reason that I breastfeed Mae, out of guilt, because I feel like I otherwise wouldn't be doing the best thing for her). But, oh my God. Nobody told me how much it would hurt; how bony a baby's mouth can be, even without any teeth in there; how my nipples would ache; how grouchy it would make me.
The books I read, back when Mae was just Pushkin, all said that if you were doing it correctly, breastfeeding was painless. So, I was very hopeful, at first, that we were just doing it wrong. We saw two different lactation consultants in the hospital though, and they both confirmed that she was latched right, and both times I was in tears. And, I'll admit, it's gotten a bit better since then, but it still hurts, and every time another three hours rolls around and Mae makes smacky lips at me, I say (trying to pretend like I'm joking, so as not to hurt her feelings) "Oh no, Mae!! Is that Eat-Face AGAIN?"
But now that I've complained, I'll admit this too: There are some neat things about breastfeeding. First, it's weird that my boobs are suddenly useful for something. It's also very comical (if you're into that particular kind of comedy) how sometimes, when they are full enough with milk, it will just squirt out in random directions, almost like a mostly-broken sprinkler. And - by far - the neatest part is that it's the one thing that only I can do for Mae, and it is nice to be needed.
Still, I will not be one of those mothers who has a mini mourning session when it's time to hang up the nursing bras and bring out the solid foods. In fact, I'm looking forward to the days when I can fit back into my littler, prettier bras and Mae can go to town making ick faces and throwing spoonfuls of mashed veggies about.
