Both of my kids have been breastfed. Well, kind of. With Eleanore, I didn't have the assistance I needed in the beginning, and no matter how bad I wanted her to latch on, it just wasn't happening. So for her, I pumped. After 6 months of being hooked up to uncomfortable plastic suction cups, for 3 hours a day, we switched her to formula. With Charlie though, I was determined. I wasn't going to give up so easily. Within seconds of being put into my arms, he latched on. I mean, he really latched on. At 8 months old, he weighs 25 pounds, that's how hard he latched on, haha.
I don't nurse my fat baby in public, I go into a dressing room, or sit in the car and do it (any mother who has nursed a baby in the front seat of a car deserves an award, by the way, framed and bedazzled). Not because I can't, its perfectly legal- I could. I just don't want to. Those nursing cover cape things, yeah that's not going to work for me. I need my own personal tent set up. But when I'm at home, even outside in the driveway or on the porch, Beware of Boob. At this point, I can't keep track of who has or hasn't seen my chest. I give the neighbors the courtesy of turning my chair around so that we're not facing their front window, but if you've been to my house in the last couple of months, you know I'm not shy about it.
The other day I was out on the porch with the family, our next door neighbor and her daughter were over playing, we were all enjoying the break from the heat that we've recently had here in Texas, and then- hunger struck. I did the usual, looked both ways to make sure nobody was staring directly at me, and then popped myself out of my bra and hushed the whining. There I am, tra la la, the cool breeze is blowing through my desperately seeking a cut hair, I'm taking in nice deep breaths of autumn scented oxygen, la di la-
OUCH! I screamed.
No, I literally screamed it.
Typically, I can take pain. I'm the queen of pain (Alk3 anyone), dealing with both Endometriosis and IBS on a daily basis (sometimes you have to throw in a little tmi, we're all friends here, right?), I can usually fly through the day with a couple of ibuprofen at my side, no problem. A headache comes along, pffft, so what. I stub my toe... walk it off. But this?
I looked down at Charlie. He was smiling back up at me. Literally, smiling. The little Vampire bit me. He bit me, and he liked it!
I've always wondered what it would feel like to get bitten by a vampire. Haven't we all (I know at least half of you have, though it was probably an older, dark eyed, dull minded yet ridiculously good looking guy with a crazy vocabulary named Edward)? Well now I have been, and it sucked. Seriously, by far, the worst pain I've felt in months. I looked around again, this time hoping that somebody was looking at me, having seen the evil grin poking out from behind the nipple, so that I could safely get away with my claim of sanity.
Of course, nobody had seen it. I then launched into an explanation for my shouting "ow!" at the top of my lungs, which nobody cared about. The world was apparently, going on without me, despite my 60 second pause and close encounter with death.
I guess sometimes it gets to a point where milk just isn't enough, for a fat baby. Watch out Mama's, hes coming after you next.