Here Comes Bessie

I feel like a cow.

No this is not a post about my weight loss attempts. This is a post about being milked...you have been warned.

I absolutely love breastfeeding my little one. I always have. There is nothing more special than the bond you form with your baby while feeding them the way nature intended. I love to watch her nurse and see her little jaw quiver as she suckles. The look in her eyes as she gazes up at me just melts my heart. Her little hand reaching out to touch my face as she snuggles in for the long haul. She fits perfectly in my arms and knows how to find her way with her eyes closed. It is a comfortable routine. It is home for both of us.

I have many friends who were not successful at breastfeeding and a few who never tried it. I respect their choices, but part of me feels as though they've missed such a wonderful part of motherhood that cannot be replaced. When I see another nursing mother, I am always reminded of my own experiences (past and present) and often feel as if I am a member of a special club. I was sad when Sarah weaned herself at 15 months. I wasn't as sad when I had to help Megan wean at 20 months, but I missed it none-the-less.

While I love nursing, I CANNOT STAND PUMPING! As a working mother, I need to pump at work so that little Emma can reap the benefits of breast milk while at daycare. I dread pulling out that pump and hooking myself up to it. It is time consuming, uncomfortable, an inconvenience, and a total source of stress for me. I struggle with supply and often am not able to pump enough to cover the next day. I use the weekends to "catch-up", but usually have to thaw a bottle's worth from my freezer stash once a week.

Since Emma is now 9 months old, I am beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. As it is she is eating more and more "food" and slowly dropping off on how much milk she gets. I just keep counting the months and hope that April gets here soon!