The Feeding Dilemma

Argh. This whole breastfeeding thing breast milking thing takes a lot out of me. I hate the way my boobs feel. I hate that it is uncomfortable to put on my bathrobe after a shower (really like WTF is up with that?). I hate that I feel violated by my breast pump. I hate that I've found a way to pump without having to actually take my current bra off. I hate how they feel when I don't pump on time. And I hate getting up every four hours to do it and feeling sick to my stomach half the time.

But I love the fact that I seem to be losing weight, and that I can give my child milk instead of formula. I wish there was another way, though. I don't want to take the formula route if I don't have to, although I've seriously considered it as I sit here patiently waiting for the pump to do its thing. Poopy breast milk diapers aren't as smelly (that shit is YELLOW!) and if they spit up on you, it washes out. NOT the case with formula. It smells way worse, it doesn't come out of clothes, and it ain't free.

But dear GOD some nights I wish she would latch. Anna has never latched. I've tried everything, and that kid just thinks my boobs are the AntiChrist. I partially blame myself, partially the nurses. It would probably have helped to have some basic instructions (or if I had thought to take the breastfeeding course offered at the hospital, but seriously, $150 and on a Saturday?) and then just had everyone get the hell out. Not have an audience, not have random women with nurses badges grab my breasts (without asking!) and try to force them into erectness to shove in my screaming (and I mean DEFCON 1 here) child's mouth. Anna was apopleptic.

If we have another child, my first instructions for feeding will be to BRING ME A BREAST PUMP AND GET THE HELL OUT. EVERYONE. I will bond with my child on my own terms - now get the f*ck out.