I kind of hate breastfeeding

I kind of hate breastfeeding

There. I said it.

I’m not a mother whose baby latched beautifully right after birth. I’m not a mother whose infant lovingly gazed at her while feeding. (In fact, my middle child much preferred no eye contact which kind of broke my heart. And then made me mad that I was doing this thing for her that I didn’t quite love to begin with.) And now, with my own new baby again, I’m still not the mother who likes nursing.

For me, It’s hard – really frickin’ hard.

And initially hurts like hell, too. You get prepped for the pains of childbirth, but I feel like nursing pains don’t get talked about. (Don’t even get me started on afterpains or how maybe, just maybe, you might get a little touched out now and again.)

I love my baby and, like every mother, I want to do the best thing for her.

But what about me? What about what’s best for momma? That matters, too.

In twenty minutes, I’ll breastfeed. Tomorrow (or even tonight), I might bottlefeed. I might pump. I might nurse. I might use formula. I really don’t know what will be best for both of us at the next feeding.

At the end of the day, my daughters know (or think they do) the depths of my love for them and I can assure you, them and anyone else that that has nothing to do with how I will feed them in their first year of life. What matters? Feeding my babies and doing what’s best for the collective us.