Spilled Milk

I literally cried over spilled milk the other day.  The bottle warmer got a bottle too hot and the milk went everywhere, caramelizing in the bottom of the warmer into a sicky sweet mess.  If Tiny Human could have Dolce de Leche, we would have been in Tiny Gourmet heaven, but alas it was ruined.

And I balled my eyes out.

I was ambivalent about breastfeeding–if it worked, great.  If it didn’t, no biggie;  I was formula fed, and look at all the free samples you can get!  I was ambivalent until our then-potential Pediatrician in our pre-natal interview looked me straight in the eyes and said, “You either are, or you aren’t.  If you go in and half-ass it, it’s never going to work.”

Did I mention he had me at “Half-Assed?”

And from that conversation, I was in.  Don’t get me wrong, I still hoarded the formula samples, but I dove in head first into the “We’re going to breastfeed” bandwagon.  And for someone who still thinks it’s a little weird, I was so heartbroken that first night home, sitting in the nursery with JGL trying to make it work without the help of the Beautiful Nurses at the hospital.  Tiny Human was unconsolable, I was hysterical, and it was JGL who had to crack open the formula and feed Tiny.  We received help from the doctor and a wonderful Lactation Lady in town, but it never was that organically beautiful thing everyone with their Le Leche League card says it is.  It hurt.  It was frustrating.  He was constantly upset and I was constantly dreading feeding time.  Then the beautiful pump came, I started taking high powered supplements to help with a supply dwindling under the stress, and we decided to pump and serve in a bottle.  Breastfeeding with a middle man.

I love feeding Tiny now.  And the boy loves to eat.  I’ve also learned to work flax seed and brewers yeast into more of my food items than I care to admit.  But spilling milk has become a near catastrophic event in this household.   It’s not like a batch of muffins–I can’t just whip up more.  1 ounce equals one hour.  Minimum.

I’m convinced that one of the lessons I am suppose to learn from this parenthood thing is to be more patient, flexible, and willing to give myself some grace.  It’s still just so damn hard, sometimes.




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