I have been breastfeeding my baby for six months now, but it’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be.
I recently read a quote by Aristotle that stated, “This is the reason why mothers are more devoted to their children than fathers: it is that they suffer more in giving them birth and are more certain that they are their own.” I wouldn’t say that I’m more devoted to our son than my husband is, but if I am, it could be because of the pain and suffering and utter agony (to sugarcoat it) that I endured during labor. Aristotle got that bit right. There’s also the nine months of carrying the child, which included the twenty weeks of throwing up multiple times a day. Add to that the breastfeeding and providing our child with all of his nourishment during his first six months of life. All I’m saying is that Aristotle almost got it right, but he left out a few minor points. Really, if we’re talking about just creating and nourishing the baby, men are (almost) superfluous.
I think my husband realizes this (possibly because I’ve pointed it out to him), so he recently claimed that he spiritually breastfeeds our child. Yesterday, when he was holding Colin, my husband proudly stated, “I’d like to help you cook dinner, but I’m spiritually breastfeeding Colin right now.” My husband claims this is just as important as what I do because I nourish Colin’s body, while Andy nourishes his soul. I’m skeptical, but it’s very hard to prove that someone is not spiritually breastfeeding.
I am grateful that I’m able to breastfeed my baby, and it is sweet and a wonderful way to bond. It hasn’t been easy, though. I’ve had various problems, but the most comical is that Colin has a favorite breast.
No one believes me when I say this. But it’s true! One side produces more, so Colin likes that side best. Sometimes, when I’m feeding him, he turns up his little baby nose at my left breast and bides his time until he’s given the better producer. This is worrisome because he likes the right side more, so he eats more from it, causing it to produce even more milk, exacerbating the problem. It’s a tragic cycle.
Breastfeeding is also time consuming. When he was a newborn, it took forty minutes to feed him, and he ate eight to ten times a day. That means I spent roughly six hours a day feeding my child. This had its pluses, though, because for forty minutes, I sat and read, called a friend, emailed, gazed at Colin, or watched television. My husband, meanwhile, made dinner, did the dishes, or engaged in some other chore. It now takes Colin fifteen minutes to eat, but I haven’t told my husband about this change. I wear a breastfeeding cover, ostensibly to provide me with privacy, but really it gives me an alibi. I wear it when I’m in the middle of a particularly good chapter in my book. Colin finishes and plays happily under the cover for thirty more minutes while Andy scurries about the house being productive. In fact, even when Colin isn’t hungry but there are chores to be done, I can whip out the cover and claim immobility while my husband, feeling guilty for not being able to breastfeed, finishes the hated chores. The world has yet to produce a cover for spiritual breastfeeders, so I think I’m safe from retaliatory attacks.
One downside of breastfeeding is that I often get these inexplicable sharp, shooting pains in my chest between feedings. I asked my doctor about them, and he helpfully responded, “I’m pretty sure it’s not a heart attack.”
I’ve tried to ask other mothers for advice on when and how to wean, but I’ve found everyone is wracked with guilt surrounding breastfeeding. If the mother formula feeds, she cries, “I didn’t breastfeed, okay? It doesn’t make me a bad mother!” If the mother weaned early, she exclaims, “I just wanted my body back! The baby’s fine.” If the mother weaned late, she wails, “I know everyone says if the baby can ask for it, he’s too old, but all the research says it’s good for him. I did the right thing!” And I never get any advice.
It’s sad that mothers feel so guilty about any choice they make regarding this issue. I wonder if it’s because guilt is just a part of motherhood, or if there’s something about this issue in particular that triggers maternal guilt.
I have contemplated trying to profit by selling my milk online to mothers who can’t breastfeed but would like to feed their babies with breast milk. A cursory search online revealed that several men are interested in purchasing women’s breast milk. One man posted that he had been drinking breast milk for several years and now wanted to consume it from the source. He was willing to pay $500 for the opportunity. His post effectively turned me off to the idea of selling my milk.
Men might not be interested in buying spiritual breast milk, however. I wonder how much my husband could charge to nourish the souls of other babies--$5 per soul?
I recently read a quote by Aristotle that stated, “This is the reason why mothers are more devoted to their children than fathers: it is that they suffer more in giving them birth and are more certain that they are their own.” I wouldn’t say that I’m more devoted to our son than my husband is, but if I am, it could be because of the pain and suffering and utter agony (to sugarcoat it) that I endured during labor. Aristotle got that bit right. There’s also the nine months of carrying the child, which included the twenty weeks of throwing up multiple times a day. Add to that the breastfeeding and providing our child with all of his nourishment during his first six months of life. All I’m saying is that Aristotle almost got it right, but he left out a few minor points. Really, if we’re talking about just creating and nourishing the baby, men are (almost) superfluous.
I think my husband realizes this (possibly because I’ve pointed it out to him), so he recently claimed that he spiritually breastfeeds our child. Yesterday, when he was holding Colin, my husband proudly stated, “I’d like to help you cook dinner, but I’m spiritually breastfeeding Colin right now.” My husband claims this is just as important as what I do because I nourish Colin’s body, while Andy nourishes his soul. I’m skeptical, but it’s very hard to prove that someone is not spiritually breastfeeding.
I am grateful that I’m able to breastfeed my baby, and it is sweet and a wonderful way to bond. It hasn’t been easy, though. I’ve had various problems, but the most comical is that Colin has a favorite breast.
No one believes me when I say this. But it’s true! One side produces more, so Colin likes that side best. Sometimes, when I’m feeding him, he turns up his little baby nose at my left breast and bides his time until he’s given the better producer. This is worrisome because he likes the right side more, so he eats more from it, causing it to produce even more milk, exacerbating the problem. It’s a tragic cycle.
Breastfeeding is also time consuming. When he was a newborn, it took forty minutes to feed him, and he ate eight to ten times a day. That means I spent roughly six hours a day feeding my child. This had its pluses, though, because for forty minutes, I sat and read, called a friend, emailed, gazed at Colin, or watched television. My husband, meanwhile, made dinner, did the dishes, or engaged in some other chore. It now takes Colin fifteen minutes to eat, but I haven’t told my husband about this change. I wear a breastfeeding cover, ostensibly to provide me with privacy, but really it gives me an alibi. I wear it when I’m in the middle of a particularly good chapter in my book. Colin finishes and plays happily under the cover for thirty more minutes while Andy scurries about the house being productive. In fact, even when Colin isn’t hungry but there are chores to be done, I can whip out the cover and claim immobility while my husband, feeling guilty for not being able to breastfeed, finishes the hated chores. The world has yet to produce a cover for spiritual breastfeeders, so I think I’m safe from retaliatory attacks.
One downside of breastfeeding is that I often get these inexplicable sharp, shooting pains in my chest between feedings. I asked my doctor about them, and he helpfully responded, “I’m pretty sure it’s not a heart attack.”
I’ve tried to ask other mothers for advice on when and how to wean, but I’ve found everyone is wracked with guilt surrounding breastfeeding. If the mother formula feeds, she cries, “I didn’t breastfeed, okay? It doesn’t make me a bad mother!” If the mother weaned early, she exclaims, “I just wanted my body back! The baby’s fine.” If the mother weaned late, she wails, “I know everyone says if the baby can ask for it, he’s too old, but all the research says it’s good for him. I did the right thing!” And I never get any advice.
It’s sad that mothers feel so guilty about any choice they make regarding this issue. I wonder if it’s because guilt is just a part of motherhood, or if there’s something about this issue in particular that triggers maternal guilt.
I have contemplated trying to profit by selling my milk online to mothers who can’t breastfeed but would like to feed their babies with breast milk. A cursory search online revealed that several men are interested in purchasing women’s breast milk. One man posted that he had been drinking breast milk for several years and now wanted to consume it from the source. He was willing to pay $500 for the opportunity. His post effectively turned me off to the idea of selling my milk.
Men might not be interested in buying spiritual breast milk, however. I wonder how much my husband could charge to nourish the souls of other babies--$5 per soul?
