This week's grocery list goes a little something like this:
- Milk
- Bread
- Diet Coke (not the caffeine free crap)
- Coffee (not that decaf crap)
- A box or two of wine (the cheap crap)
It's official. I now can eat or drink anything I want. Hallelujah.
After months and months of sipping instant decaf coffee, caffeine-free soda and passing on numerous cocktails, spritzers, and Jagerbombs, I've been liberated.
The efforts have been well worth it. Sweet Pea was born healthy and, at a month and a half old, she has started to outgrow some of her newborn outfits.
Unfortunately, the past few weeks have been anything but wine and roses. (More like whine and roses, to be honest.) After several weeks of less-than-successful nursing, the baby and I are both hitting the bottle.
Nursing didn't quite go as I'd hoped. Diagnosed with a "weak suck," Sweet Pea spent the last six weeks chewing on me.
Each and every meal bit. Literally.
We visited our doctor, our friendly-neighborhood lactation consultant and even a speech therapist (who specializes in muscles in the mouth) to try to get breastfeeding on track, but to no avail.
Rather than embarking on time-intensive suck training and extra pumping sessions, I decided to hang up my nursing bra and get the girl a bottle. And one for me while I'm at it.
Even though I'm making light of it here, it was a difficult, emotional decision to wean. It's hard to not beat yourself up or feel like a failure when you stop nursing sooner than expected, even though everyone says ANY amount of breast milk given should still be considered a success.
My decision to quit was not a selfish one -- even though my boobs were the first, most immediate beneficiaries. No, it was made for the greater good of this household.
Bottle feeding now affords me more time to take care of other, equally important Mom Business -- things like housework, laundry, and meal prep. I'm no longer chained to a chair for hours on end, pumping or being chewed on. (Parenting three big kids from a rocking chair while being bitten repeatedly is extremely difficult, by the way.)
And after The Big Cry, I'm actually happy about the decision. I've dabbed away my last tear and as I write this am riding high on a lovely caffeine buzz.
Things don't always go as planned, but an open mind, double espresso and two boxes of Franzia sure help.
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3 comments:
I can only send a virtual hug to you. I had to turn in the industrial hospital grade pump at about 8 or 9 weeks bc i pumped every single meal in order to feed them, the whole latch and stay on thing being what it was with twins, and it was so much work.
it was hard but i remember the relief when i realized that i did not have to spend 20 minutes being pumped like a cow 8 times a day and could instead focus on other things, like taking a shower or shoving some food into my mouth.
we do the very best we are able to do and i think the best thing is that you know that. :) and the last post made me laugh a bit until i thought about the dogs barking incessantly at you. hope that eases off too.
At the risk of sounding like one of those judgmental sanctimommies, I'm just going to come out and say it: It's time to start drinking better wine.
SK
@mames - My lactation consultant was wonderful. She supported my decision 100%, saying I needed to start ENJOYING feeding the baby.
Plus, I'd like to see Ceasar Milan try to train dogs while hooked to a breast pump. No matter how good you are, it ain't gonna happen.
@SK - OK, the jig is up. Inspect my house. No Franzia here. I just love claims of downing box after box. No need to call AA -- or my local snooty wine bar for an intervention.
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