To Boob or Not to Boob

There is nothing that I am more proud of now than the fact that my kid can latch right on to the boob and get a nice meal of breastmilk whenever and wherever he wants it. If you had told me 6 months ago that I would have such a sense of accomplishment at something that I once thought was so simple, I would have thought you were high.

Of all the difficulties of pregnancy, labor and childrearing that I mentally prepared for, breastfeeding was not one of them. But Malcolm was 4 months old before I finally thought, "hey, I've gotten this down."

From the first week of engorgement to the [EDS NOTE: Gross description] bloody gashes on my nipples, the 4 doses of anti-yeast treatment and the Gentian Violet/Exorcist baby weekend, breastfeeding has taught me one big lesson: PERSISTENCE aka stubbornness.

To boob became my one quest. I walked around most days in the apartment topless to airdry what the Good Lord gave me and gave up some of my last shreds of dignity to attach myself to the Moo-Cow Machine (the Ameda Egnell Elite), just so he could have breakfast/elevenses/lunch/snack/dinner/late-night snack/midnight munch/Sleepers Awake stuffing.

This story is the best description I've ever seen about my experience. I laughed til I cried (or cried til I laughed?) when I read this.

I could not have made it through without the help of Pat Shelly at the Breastfeeding Center. She made me feel like I could do this. And now I am. Just whip it out, pop him on and BAM! Dinner.

So what's the point of this post?

Oren is reading aloud from "Super Baby Food" by Ruth Yaron. Malcolm is starting his first solid foods, bananas, cereal and avocados.

Time flies when you're having fun.