Resenting Breastfeeding

There I said it.

This will be an unpopular opinion and it is something I’ve only really shared with one person for fear of being chased with breast pumps and pitchforks.

I really resent breastfeeding most of the time.

I have been breastfeeding now for 10 months. My original plan was to try it for a week. Then a month and so on and so forth until before I knew it, it was all I knew.

Frankie loves it. He’s been teething. In pain. Waking frequently. It calms him instantly. We have moments of real tenderness. When he is sleepy in my arms. Or his little hands come up and cup my cheek. When he was sick in hospital I knew this was the only thing I could do for him. But also it was the very best nourishment he could get in the world. So that was cool.

But the shitty parts are pretty shitty. Not even counting the weeks of agony at the start. The Mastitis. The cracked nipples. The swollen, leaking, lopsided stranger boobs.

I’ve had a milk blister on Frankie’s favorite boob for a month now that seems to be here to stay. Ouch.

Mental health professionals have ALL told me that there are risks with any medications I take (I’m pretty sure this is wrong also). Guilt.

I’ve had surgery and was not prescribed painkillers afterwards and was incorrectly told to pump and dump after it. Bah.

When seeking weaning advice I am met with- “Why wean? Just feed him till he wants to stop!” ARE YOU JOKING???

I’m weaning him slowly. Its not his fault, it was my choice to do it. I have to live with it. Sometimes though I wonder what in the name of god I was thinking.

Yeah, yeah I know its best for the baby. I get it.

I’m weaning him slowly. My goal is to be finished in a months time. If not completely by then a year old is the deadline.

Henri Matisse

 

 

 

Bedtime

It is magical. It is.

The streetlights were coming through in slivers of peachy light. Across his little lips.

He sighed and I felt his body go heavy and soft in my arms. A little pearl of milk on his cheek.

I miss him now listening to the echoing hum of the monitor and the lashing rain out there.

I love him.

Michael T. Liepke

Ranting and raving

This is bullshit. The state of the mental health system in Ireland is literally bullshit.

Three weeks ago I did what they tell you. I went to the GP. He referred me to local mental health services. A psychiatrist.

Today I attended that appointment. I think it was pretty much just an assessment (how mental is she?) So for an hour and a half I spoke about my past, my mental health, relationships, even how I was born (normal delivery I think??).

Anyways. After all of that. After saying that I was suicidal, but not right now at this moment I was given a mood diary to fill in, told to google mindfulness and given another appointment in three weeks time. Oh and the consultant is on holidays then so its with another nurse. She also said she didn’t think “medication was really my thing”

I’ll tell you what my THING is. It’s getting better and not feeling like I want to slit my wrists when I wake up at two in the morning.

Then to top it all off, the taxi was really late to pick me up so I stood outside fuming in the blazing sun.  Then Frank woke in the taxi and screamed the whole way home. The taxi driver was nice though, he gave me a knowing look and said, “It’s just one of those days eh?”

Yep. Yep it is.

Sigh. I mean, all of these feckin mental health campaigns tell you to go and speak to someone. But THEN WHAT??

Be bounced around from person to person, weeks/ months apart.Repeat your story over and over, remind yourself how miserable you are and if you don’t accept the first medication they give you, well, you are truly fucked then.

Sorry for the bad language I’m just really frustrated. I’m just sick of this shit. I have a tiny human to look after and I’m asking for help, begging for it and I keep getting told to do breathing exercises. I mean, is this for real? Have I somehow stepped into some parallel universe a la Stranger Things?

Maybe I’ll wear a noose around my neck to the next appointment.

Marcel Monreal

 

 

 

 

 

 

The end of breastfeeding

 

He breastfed immediately, like a tiny animal he crawled on my chest,  just wanting and needing to be close to me. We had spent so long together already.

Frankie slept on me  the first night. In a ward of 9 other mothers and 9 other new babes I felt like we were in our own world that night, I was exploding.

Weak, tired, stinky but full of love and joy and hope.

I’m in the process of weening and I can feel that as he becomes more of an individual, more independent and less of a little baby I do feel a bit sad.

Although the process is not easy, it is certainly not painful. I love the fact that his Dad can now put him to bed. I love the fact that he knows I am there and cuddles and kisses are more frequent. I am not his only food source now.

The world is opening up for him and it makes me very proud that he is welcoming this new world with open arms.

 

Mary Cassat