I hate breastfeeding. Hate hate hate hate hate. Hate.
I know I know, admitting I don’t enjoy having a tiny human gnawing at my tatas all the live long day is tantamount to saying my weekend hobby is kicking puppies or that I read Mein Kampf daily to get inspiration on the kind of person I want to be. How could I say such a horrible thing?!?!?! WHAT KIND OF MONSTER AM I!?!?!?!!
I don’t care though. The truth can’t be denied and the truth is I loath breastfeeding (at least breastfeeding exclusively) in a way that words cannot describe.
Now before everyone starts screaming “BREAST IS BEST!” at me in the comments let me be perfectly clear, I fully support breastfeeding and breastfeeding mothers. Yes, breastfeeding is beautiful and natural and amazing… I agree. I know all the reasons why it’s beneficial to both the baby and mother, I’ve read all the statistics about immune systems and been told every touching story about bonding. I support a womans right to breastfeed anywhere she damn well pleases and wouldn’t discourage anyone who wanted to. But personally doing it makes me angry, resentful, and not the kind of mom I want to be.
Reasons I hate babies on my boobies:
1. Exclusively breastfeeding means I am The. Only. One. who can feed the child… a child who, by the way, needs someone to feed it every 2-3 hours. It’s like being chained to them. With Verona I was sometimes the only person to give her a bottle for a month or more and it was fine… it was fine because I knew that if I needed help someone could give it to me. It’s not feeding Finn all the time that drove me nuts it was knowing that I had No. Other. Choice.
2. The insane lack of sleep brought on by #1. I want to take a nap with Verona and let my mom take care of Finn in the living room for me for a few hours. I want David to be able to take the night shift every once in a great while so I can get comatose for a stretch of time longer than the movie Titanic.
3. Bonding? I know plenty of women who have told me how breastfeeding helped them bond with their baby… that’s awesome for them but I have never experienced it. With a bottle I can look in awe at all the weird face he makes while eating, I can make eye contact with him, I enjoy that time of being together.
When I’m breastfeeding my abnormally large boob (they’re abnormally large to begin with so after I have a baby their hugeness is downright inappropriate) almost completely covers his face. Forget about gazing into his blue eyes or seeing the little half smiles as he dozes off… all I can see is a swatch of baby forehead and half an eyelid protruding from under the fleshy boulder that I can only assume is smothering him to death.
Not that I would be gazing in awe anyway, I’m too busy being pissed about how chapped and my nipples are and worrying about whether or not the fact that they’re bleeding into his mouth is going to turn him into a vampire.
4. Back to #3, I’m pissed at the fact that my boobs are continuously being hurt… which really means I’m pissed at by baby for continuously hurting my boobs. No matter how I fight it every time he starts acting hungry my first response is “Seriously dude!? Again? Ugh!” When I’m getting to know the newest member of my family and falling in love with him the way parents are supposed to love their children thoughts like this do not help.
5. David can take care of his son when bottles are an option. Other than Verona, David doesn’t have a lot of baby experience so getting to learn it all and do it himself is fun for him. He would never discourage me from breastfeeding but I know it makes him sad that (because of #1 again) he is physically incapable of taking care of his own child without me around. There’s no way that could be an ego booster.
Because of all the benefits I was going to do it though, at least for a while, I fully planned on it. But as it turns out, just like last time, I don’t have nearly enough milk to feed another person so after trying and trying and visits with lactation consultants and pumping and teas and medications and whatnot we had to start supplementing with formula. It seems so convenient, I would never have to fess up to any of this at all, I could hide behind the fact that I had both doctor and lactation consults assurance that bottles were necessary and let everyone else assume I was wallowing in disappointment… it would be so easy.
But it would be dishonest. So here, I said the thing I’m not allowed to say, I don’t glow with the natural beauty of breastfeeding, do with it what you will.