I’m typing this on my phone with one thumb as a baby sleeps on my shoulder. So, it will either be nonsense or a model of economy a la Hemingway. Place your bets.
It’s been a rough week. Katie decided a few days ago that she was done breastfeeding. I can fool her into it first thing in the morning but otherwise, no dice. She screams at the sight of my boob. It’s like my nipple is menacing her.
I’ve gotten some good advice from La Leche pals and we’re trying everything, but I suspect the bottom line will be a lot less breastfeeding.
I wasn’t really ready. After swearing I’d never breastfeed at all, I’ve really come to enjoy it. I’m sad to think it might be coming to an end at just four months.
Plus, to be honest, I could really use the oxytocin. The sudden halt kind of dropped me on my ass hormonally. There’s a lot of crying (mine).
To make matters worse, I’m not getting much sleep. Katie still doesn’t really nap and she’s been waking up at night again. Last night, she woke up at 3 am and didn’t drop off again until 6. During that time, she wiggled in my arms, filling her sleep sack with farts while I pleaded with her to sleep.
Adam had to work today, so when he woke up at 5 am, he was greeted with the sight of his crazed wife, rocking the baby and whispering, “I can’t. I can’t. Oh God, please just sleep for an hour.”
That’s a fun way to wake up, right?
I know it’s just a phase and she’s so lovely and sweet and dear. But good gravy, this is hard in the meantime.
And I feel like it’s important to talk about, because we tend to see such carefully curated versions of early parenthood — fat babies blowing bubbles and grinning adorable, gummy smiles.
Just know that the lady behind the camera is probably thisclose to dropping her phone in the toilet or tripping over absolutely nothing … and then, since she’s down there, having a nice nap on the rug.