Hey Momma, I’m going to pretend we’re sitting at a cafe in a quaint little town and I’m just going to share my heart with you … a confession of sorts. So grab your cup of coffee or latte and settle in your comfy chair. Some of you may need to brace yourselves for what I’m about to share.
I don’t like breastfeeding.
There. I said it to you.
Please don’t hate me. And please don’t judge me.
Maybe you love it. Maybe you, like an old friend of mine, think it’s a beautiful thing. You’re bonding through the suckling…
I respect you and your heart and your love for breastfeeding. But I don’t enjoy it like you do. It’s not beautiful to me. It’s a chore I do because I know it’s the best thing for my baby.
I know you hate I just called it a chore. Please hear me out.
From the beginning, when our first baby was born almost four years ago, I was committed to breastfeeding because I knew all the benefits. I researched and against my personal feelings about it, I was on the bandwagon to breastfeed. I changed my stance from a formula baby myself, to an advocate of breast milk.
But I absolutely hated breastfeeding, and waited for the day I could start exclusively pumping. It’s been a challenge, mentally and emotionally, with each of our three children to breastfeed. With our newest newborn, I am pressing on, just like I did all the days and weeks before. It’s not easy and I tell myself every day that I’m doing a great thing. I’m putting aside my personal struggles and doing a very good thing for my baby. (And for anyone wondering, my husband is 100% supportive of whatever I do.)
I’m trying a little to see the beauty, the things you so love about this act. I see his beautiful face as I hold him close to me. I marvel at the little eyelashes that are starting to be visible. I gaze at the little bit of hair on his head and wonder what color it will end up being. I wonder if he will he look like his brother or sister, his daddy or me. I contemplate the boy and man he will grow into in those moments of anxiously waiting for him to be filled by my milk.
I try to lose myself in him, reminding myself time is fleeting. Before long he’ll be sitting at the dining room table with his siblings, the days of breastfeeding long over.
In the meantime I will keep doing this thing I so don’t enjoy…
Thanks Momma. Thanks for hearing me out. Thanks for listening and understanding that we’re different, you and me. Thanks for not throwing your latte in my face. Thanks for encouraging me to press on when this is a hard thing for me to do. Thanks for being a fellow momma in this walk of life. I’m thankful for you.