When I was pregnant with you I would often get asked whether or not I planned on breastfeeding. "I'm going to give it a try and see if it works."
I had read the articles about how beneficial it is for a baby to have their mother's milk, and how skin-to-skin contact is important for bonding. I was prepared for it to be a success or colossal failure.
Well, baby girl, you turned out to be a champ at eating from the boob.
My doubts about whether you would latch, whether I'd create enough milk, and whether I'd be comfortable with pulling out a previously private part of my body multiple times a day were silenced pretty darn fast.
Nurses helped us figure out the positioning. Your daddy kept notes about when you fed, how long, and from which boob. I struggled to keep my eyes open and nipples from chafing. You ate, slept, ate, ate again, cried, and ate right after sleeping for about 5 minutes.
Breastfeeding is beautiful. It's natural, emotional, and it pushed me to a breaking point the second night we were at it. No one warned me about clusterfeeding... NO ONE!
Evil-granola-snacking-organic-cloth-diapering monsters. Did they keep this little note out of the class we took at the hospital in order to protect us from the horror of second-night buffet-insomnia? Or did they just want to see me suffer?
This is a memory I will cherish and hold against you for all time: me watching a tenth episode of House Hunters at 3AM while you gummed the life out of my yet-to-be-milk-filled boobs. 10 months later, my heart warms at the thought of your tiny body wrapped in blankets and curled up in my arms. 10 months ago, I was on the brink of tears wanting to shake your daddy awake to grab a bottle because WE WERE NOT GOING TO DO THIS BREASTFEEDING MADNESS.
Deep breaths...whew. I'm glad I didn't quit. That we didn't quit on each other. We survived that night and for exactly 10 months I was able to feed you from my body and watch you grow so big and strong. We've breastfed in cars, restaurants, at track meets, campgrounds, offices, bathrooms, and countless other public and semiprivate locations. I carried my pump with me to CC meets, on road trips, and girls-night shopping adventures. Magical bonding moments where you smiled while taking a feeding break, laughed, bounced your head on my chest, and brushed my hair with your fingers made me want to keep breastfeeding forever.
And then you bit me.
10 months ended up being our finish line for this part of the journey. Those two daggers sprouting from your bottom gums brought a quick end to our picture-perfect feeding. Yes, I miss it. I miss holding you so close for hours a day and I miss your excitement when you knew it was boob-time.
Oh well. Baby girl, it was good while it lasted.
