I'm obsessed with my tatas.
they are the lil' Prof's only means of survival (unless someone gave him a bottle, that is).
they're sore.
incredibly sore.
they're busy between 5-7 hours a day.
they refuse to be clothed.
and, quite frankly, I'm sick to death of them.
breastfeeding is...I'm not gonna say 'hard' because the act itself is actually quite easy...
so I'm going to go with "laborious."
it is all encompassing. pervasive. it leaks, if you will, into every single aspect of my existence.
it affects what I eat, how I dress, where I go, how my time is allocated, when (as well as where and with whom) I sleep, and is basically running my fucking life.
a human milk supply is a very fragile (I'm coming to realize) entity. I can't exercise too much (0r at all...cause I'm sore). I can't take a break. it must continue...every two hours. no matter what.
I have to feed constantly to avoid clogging, plugging and infection, and it's all I can do to get a few extra ounces a day put aside should I want to *gasp* leave StinkBottom for an hour or so. (which, quite frankly...I don't)
last night...I spilled an entire bottle of precious, hard-won, coveted milk.
not gonna lie...I almost had a heart attack.
did I mention that I'm sore?
I won't even consider formula or supplementing. not a chance in hades, so I've come to the conclusion (oqui had to tell me) that I better just make the better of it.
I thought that being pregnant was a buzzkill...
but (incredibly) achey and highly demanded boobs definitely take the tata.
I'm never leaving the house, again.
they are the lil' Prof's only means of survival (unless someone gave him a bottle, that is).
they're sore.
incredibly sore.
they're busy between 5-7 hours a day.
they refuse to be clothed.
and, quite frankly, I'm sick to death of them.
breastfeeding is...I'm not gonna say 'hard' because the act itself is actually quite easy...
so I'm going to go with "laborious."
it is all encompassing. pervasive. it leaks, if you will, into every single aspect of my existence.
it affects what I eat, how I dress, where I go, how my time is allocated, when (as well as where and with whom) I sleep, and is basically running my fucking life.
a human milk supply is a very fragile (I'm coming to realize) entity. I can't exercise too much (0r at all...cause I'm sore). I can't take a break. it must continue...every two hours. no matter what.
I have to feed constantly to avoid clogging, plugging and infection, and it's all I can do to get a few extra ounces a day put aside should I want to *gasp* leave StinkBottom for an hour or so. (which, quite frankly...I don't)
last night...I spilled an entire bottle of precious, hard-won, coveted milk.
not gonna lie...I almost had a heart attack.
did I mention that I'm sore?
I won't even consider formula or supplementing. not a chance in hades, so I've come to the conclusion (oqui had to tell me) that I better just make the better of it.
I thought that being pregnant was a buzzkill...
but (incredibly) achey and highly demanded boobs definitely take the tata.
I'm never leaving the house, again.
5 comments:
you skipped the worst part. when they look the most full and luscious, we are banned from playing with them. that's the real tragedy.
banned?
wait...you mean oqui's supposed to be banned from the tatas???
maybe THAT'S what I'm doing wrong...
well...maybe not banned entirely but we have to be careful when they are pumped full and are painful.
Kinda have to agree with andy. Full and PAINFUL . B was so sad and disappointed. I told him the boobs felt like a curse at that point haha.
oddly enough (and I'm sure I'm saying waaaay too much here)...
the 'pah is the best breast pump on the planet.
if only the boy could be as gentle as his Pop...
I might be able to let him live.
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