A Surprisingly Sane Blog

I confess, I hate breastfeeding.

I have a good reason for it, really, I do.  But before I share that, I’m going to answer the question that women love to spit in my direction with their eyes narrowed when I tell them this horrible truth:  So why do you do it?

Take your pick of my reasons:

1. Because I can.
2. It’s been an uphill battle for me, and I am proud that despite the numerous reasons I have had a difficult time with it, I am still able to do what I feel is right for my baby.
3. It’s cheaper than formula.
4. Breastmilk poop stinks a whole hell of a lot less than formula poop.
5. I’m lazy.  I don’t like cleaning bottles.
6. The benefits of nursing my kids have been worth the frustration.
7. It’s an intsa-soother for an upset baby.
8. Getting the fat sucked out of my ass by my kids is a whole lot cheaper than liposuction.
9. Hello cleavage!
10. Nature intended it.
11. Because breastfeeding is remarkably beautiful.

Actually, there are a multitude of “natural” reasons that I could bore you with, too, but I’ll let you do your own research if you want to know all about that.

I’ve chosen to breastfeed both my girls.  It is not the best decision for everyone, and I am not always certain if it was the best choice for my mental sanity.  However, I do it because I really truly believe that it is the best thing for my kids.

With all that said, here’s why I have never liked breastfeeding.

Before Julie was born, I read up on nursing as much as possible.  Some literature described the act of breastfeeding as being relaxing and pleasurable to both the mom and the baby.  Something about the “gentle tugging at the nipple as the baby suckles” or some bullshit like that.  I’m sure it was written by some flake who was trying to express the beauty of breastfeeding, but that description kind of weirded me out.  Sorry, but the only person I want any kind of “pleasure” from when it comes down to my nipples is my husband.  I mean, if you like the way it feels, more power to you.  I’m just a little weird about sexual things, as I’m sure you’ve all figured out by now.  We’ll call my problem “sexual brainwashing”.

The first time I held Julie to my breast, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be the warm and fuzzy kind of moment that I imagined and hoped for.  She latched on just fine, but freaking hell, that whole “suckling” part?  It didn’t feel “pleasurable” in the least.  In fact, it tickled in the worst way possible.  It felt absolutely horrible.

And then there was the milk “letdown”.  Oh.  My. God.  It HURT!  The term “pins and needles” sensation didn’t even come close to describing it.  I would say it felt more like a dull throb starting from my armpit and increasing to a flesh-searing burn before milk started bursting out of my nipple.

By the way, no one told me that the “letdown” was going to happen on both sides simultaneously, and that my shirt was going to get soaked unless I applied pressure over a nursing pad on my other boob.

No one told me that I was going to have a huge hormonal freak-out/breakdown when my milk came in and engorgement left me sobbing for mercy, either.  Yeah, that was a fun 24 hours.  Thank God I’d been through it before so that James and I were prepared the second time around, or he might have had me committed.

Once my milk regulated and Julie and I figured out how the whole process worked without any mess or mental breakdowns, the breastfeeding experience didn’t improve all that much.

The tickling sensation never left.  I got fairly used to it, but still cringe even while nursing my second child.  Letdowns still hurt.  A lot, in fact.  I’ve dealt with latching problems due to April’s torticollis, cracked nipples that left me screaming, clogged milk ducts (which are excruciating), and that lovely yeast infection known as “thrush” for months on end despite treatment.

Also, that rush of “motherly hormones” that is supposed to make one feel relaxed and drunk with love?  Yeah, no.  Not me.  The hormones released didn’t make me feel mellow, they had the exact opposite effect.  Instead of feeling the warm fuzzies, I get antsy and manic.  Like, I want to pop the baby off my breast faster than I can inhale and jump up like a crazy person and run screaming into the sunset.

For some reason, though, a drive from unknown origins keeps me nursing.

I think innately, my psyche knows how powerful breastfeeding really can be.  So many moms don’t have the time or the support to make it work, and so many babies need the comfort more than we can imagine.

And for these reasons, I just keep trudging on.  Somehow, it’s all worth it.

Current Mood: Confused

Tags: breastfeeding

This entry was posted on Tuesday, May 12th, 2009 at 1:05 pm and is filed under Confessions, Lists, Photos. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.