Though it has only been four and half months, our breastfeeding journey has felt like a very long road. Another one of the [many] paradoxes of parenthood: Elsa has been alive for only four and a half months (less than half the time I was pregnant with her!), though I can’t imagine we ever existed without her. I have been breast feeding for only four and a half months, but I can’t fathom that I am the same mother who cried for hours every day, fanning my nipples, staring with a mix of awe and resentment at the tiny child who gnawed her razor-blade gums against my flesh every two hours. The rules of time are bent for new parents: days whizzing by while simultaneously spanning eons. Some nights surely lasting weeks while the daylight hours dissapear in an instant.
There have been fiery, screaming nipples, many strategically-placed tubes of nipple cream around the house, countless frustrated nights in the LaZboy, a number of lactation consultants – but only one very special woman who told me I was poisoning my child (she deserves a post by herself). There has been bucketloads of self-doubt and countless moments of “Why am I doing this?” – a question I still contemplate but which no longer plagues me. Now – finally – four and a half months later – there is a really wonderful relationship with my daughter that was worth every second of misery [and it was miserable].
For more about our arduous, but ultimately successful, breastfeeding journey, try Lactation Stories: Razorblades Arrives
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