So in the beginning, when I wasn't producing enough milk, I felt totally inadequate.
I couldn't feed my baby. He'd dropped a pound in the hospital. As soon as we got out, the pediatrician made us return three times in a week for weigh-ins.
And every time he nursed, I'd get all clenchy. Sometimes I'd cry. Or just think hateful thoughts.
As you may imagine, this helped a great deal. And was super fun.
But a couple things were going on. One, with the PPD, I felt so trapped. And then I'd be physically stuck in the chair or bed. I felt like I was suffocating every time.
And then, then he'd nurse and still be hungry. Which made me feel like a huge loser. And made me so resentful. I'm doing my best. You're sucking the life out of me. And it's still not enough.
I dreaded feeding him. I dreaded everything, really.
I just wanted to walk out the door, lock it behind me, get in my car and just keep driving. After I had a huge nap. And a stiff drink or five.
Yes, I realize I'd have gotten pulled over for drunk driving. I didn't really think it through - particularly since I'd have been drinking and driving on top of Vicodin.
But I didn't flee, drink, or drive.
And then Mr. Zoloft made things better, fast.
So things got better, and then they even got good. More than good. Wonderful.
But at the point where they were wonderful, and he was entirely on breast milk, and I was really liking having him nurse, I went back to work.
And no matter how much I visualize while pumping, I just can't make enough. I sit there all, "I make huge glasses of milk!" I imagine a tall, cool glass of milk overflowing.
This helps. But not enough.
I also read blogs during the pumping. And sometimes a totally random post will make my milk just gush. Weird, I know. I can't explain it.
So he is back on formula. Which is fine.
Except that whenever I read anything about breastfeeding, I feel like crap. My kid should be exclusively breastfed. Exclusively. For the first six months. You're practically poisoning your kid, plus being a bad mom, if you supplement.
The more I read, the worse I feel.
I know this is stupid. He's well fed, he's healthy, and he's happy. But I still feel inadequate.
I'm doing my best, and it's not enough. I can't feed my kid.