Can I be totally honest with you guys right now? Breastfeeding this child has been a super hell. Like the whole thing. Supahhell. And my trade for the fiery hotness has been the happiest sweetest little girl on earth. Breastfeeding G was cake, but he was here as a personal representative from the Superhell.
You win some you lose some I guess. But I’ve been extra miserable feeding Ruby. So much so that I’ve been counting down the months until she’s a year old and I can quit this bitch.
And then I thought…wait. If I’m miserable, something needs to change. And yesterday it did.
But let me back up a bit. I haven’t shared my breastfeeding journey with everyone fully because I fear the judgement. I know that I’m making a choice to breastfeed and I know that I’m choosing to take the hardest path possible. I have my reasons, and they may not be your reasons. But that doesn’t make it less reason-y.
But back to the judgement. Judge my overly planned outfit to sit at home and never see anyone besides babies, my inability to adequately shave my armpits correctly, my choice to smile without showing teeth. But judge me as a mother, and I melt into a pile of Ecto Cooler.
So yeah. Breastfeeding makes me a sensitive sally.
Ruby has tongue tie. She also has lip tie. Her tongue tie was cut when she was tiny. It reattached. It reattached after lots of therapy to keep it from doing so. She’s now too old to have it cut again unless we get in the car and travel FAR away to a specialist…where it could reattach again. Ruby can not digest dairy, soy, cocoa, eggs and most grains at a minimum. If I do eat these foods she breaks out in full body eczema and just stops pooping all together. When she does poop it will be the color of leprechaun tears. Ruby cries when I nurse her. She sees the breast and cries. She hates nursing still. I can only nurse her *sometimes* in her bedroom, in her chair, in the dark, with white noise, with no toddlers or dads around. She will not nurse in public. She will not nurse downstairs. She will nurse at 3am and 4am and 5am and 515am and 516am. Because of all of this my supply goes up and down almost weekly.
I stress about if she’s getting enough, just how damaged her gut is based on all of her reactions. I stress about if I should just give her formula. I tried giving it to her and she spit it out. I stress about if she’s gaining weight. I stress about never sleeping ever again.
But again, all of this is my choice. I choose to breastfeed her because it’s what I truly believe is best for her based on her damaged gut.
But I just couldn’t deal anymore. After I barely could pump and ounce I decided we were making a change. I’m now an exclusive pumper. And I’m more scared of this than I was in 1999 after Blair Witch Project.
EXCLUSIVE PUMPING. That means that I pump all the milk, I feed the milk in the bottle and I clean all the shit. WITH a toddler. But guys…I don’t have a choice anymore. If I want to keep breastfeeding her, I need to deal with the hand that we’ve been dealt and get this girl to gain some weight and not despise eating.
So yesterday I was home with the 2 kids and I set my pump station up in the living room with my hands free set up. No relaxing bedroom, deep breathing pumping shit. This was mommybuildatower mommyplaytrains mommyrubyiseatingaleaf pumping. And like I thought I would, I pumped barely 2 ounces.
Dude, I hate that hands free shit. You have to get like fully naked, strap it on, slip the pumps into the slits so it fits juuust right over your nipples. I googled some images of this so I could see what I needed to do. And man, apparently there are a lot of wonderful things you can do while you are pumping:
You can check your instagram feed with attitude.
You can stand in the middle of your room and booz it up
You can catch up on your Short Hair Cuts for Straight Girl magazine
You can sexy skype with your favorite fetish group. Put a cardigan on though, it’s nipply.
When they ask “what are you wearing?” You can give a super interesting answer.
You can look at lady faces in your magazine while drinking out of your nipple ombre mug.
Here’s the prob I have with this. Stare at my milk bags all day. Everyone this side of the Atlantic has seen them. I do not care. But my stomach? Um no. Everyone of these bitches has a Kelly Kapowski middrift on except the booz hound who is wearing some contraption that I don’t have time for. I’m not interested in getting 80′s naked 6 times a day in my living room.
But to be fair, I have been meaning to catch up on my lady face magazine.
I mean seriously, if these are the things you are doing while pumping, just hold the damn pump. I’m chasing after a toddler who insists that pooping under his train table is way more appropriate than an actual potty.
So far I have not been able to figure out leaving the house while pumping every 2 hours and then feeding a bottle. People say “pump in the car”. I say I’d prefer to not be 80′s naked anywhere, but I’m going to say that my car tops that list.
My body is like freaked out by the whole thing too. I’m getting maybe 2oz at a time. I’m eating oatmeal out my ass, I’m drinking sick teas, I’m taking supplments that I think are called galactalogues?? It’s a word that means milk maker. B says it’s where aliens come from. I say come closer B so I can punch you in the mouth.
So I’m bringing all of this to you friends and friends of friends. I know many of you out there have been there and done that. I need your best tips to make this as easy as possible.
Help a pumper out.
This face needs it
PS I have to get my wisdom teeth out. I’m 32. More on that bullshit another time.
PPS The baby pageant is back in town. It’s redemption time. More on that awesomeness another another time.
After my day is done and I need to not think about lady boobs for 45 seconds. I do the smartest thing ever. I read this. GUYS, if you don’t know about Honest Toddler, I do not know what sort of life you are living. Honest Toddler tweets things like -”This isn’t a restaurant.” And it never will be. Not with those recipes- And also this -Old MacDonald Had A Farm sounds like an episode of Cribs set to music. We get it. You’re rich.- And everytime I pee my pants and then say DAMN IT WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT. Well I’ve been reading the Honest Toddler book and it’s pretty much the best thing ever. If you haven’t read it YOU MUST. My non child life is Real Housewives and this book. You will thank me. Also buy it for your friends. Then they will thank you.