Raising a 100% Breastfed Baby

Years ago, I attended a baby shower.  Between eating tiny sandwiches, making guesses at the circumference of the guest of honor's belly and cooing over the baby clothes, the other ladies in attendance talked about their war stories.  I remember thinking, "wow, all they talk about is their boobs."  At the time, I didn't have any babies, plans for babies, pets and just one house plant that was hanging on for dear life.  In order to participate in the conversation, I could only think back and muse about myself as an infant.  It was a lame party.

But, here I am.  I'm one of them now.  Last weekend, we went to our dear friends' house and I found myself talking about my boobs.  How the left boob is an under-producer and how "Righty" was like a geyser.   I even breastfed the little guy right on the family couch with every one coming in and out - something I never thought I would be able to do.

Yesterday, I bragged to my family that I was able to keep my infant alive for over a month now with nothing but my own mammary glands to thank.  No one was as impressed as I am.  Since having to give up most of everything I used to identify myself with - work, hobbies, exercise, etc. - having this accomplishment under my belt has become my new source of self confidence.  If Ryder and I had been left in the woods instead of here in San Elijo Hills, he would have made it this far.   I guess I would have to hunt for rabbits or something to keep myself alive.

I am a researcher.  Whenever I am about to embark on a new journey, I arm myself with as much internet fodder on the subject as possible.  This parenthood thing is no exception.  One thing I read over and over again was that seemingly well meaning family members will attempt to thwart a new mother's efforts to feed her baby as she chooses.  In my prenatal days, I couldn't fathom how this could be or where it would even come up in conversation.  I had no idea that my own mother would be the culprit (sorry, Mom.  The truth has to be told.)

You see, one of the hallmarks of a breastfeeding mother is complaining about it.  I mean, come on.  You have a tiny little person constantly sucking on your bits - and not just any bits.  Bits that have never so much as seen the sun up until recently.  Delicate bits.  So, it comes with the territory to whine about it.  My mom only wants me to be happy and not whining.  "You know, you could supplement with formula.  There's nothing wrong with it.  I fed you with formula and you think you turned out pretty well."

After a couple of weeks of this, I had to ask her to stop mentioning the formula.  I told her that breastfeeding was a choice that I made for the soul benefit of my baby and it's way too easy to give it up.  I needed to have everyone's support in my decision.  She admitted that she was suggesting formula so that she could spend more alone time with the baby. Noble enough.

Anyway, I'm happy to report that it is getting easier.  Ryder and I are both getting the hang of this and losing my modesty has definitely helped.  I am proud of myself for sticking with something that hurts and is time consuming  that doesn't benefit me at all - just my baby.  I think this is maturity.