Begrudging Breastfeeding

In the past 17 months of breastfeeding my daughter, I have not ONCE said to myself “what was I THINKING when I decided to breastfeed??”

At least not until this past Saturday.

Let me make this clear: I am a TERRIBLE sick person. I am so envious of the folks who can walk around with a monster-truck of a headache, totally plugged nasal passages, and a whooping cough, and play it off as if it’s a “whatever”. Unfortunately, I’m NOT one of those people. If I get a headache, I immediately assume it is being caused by a tumor. Nasty nasal congestion? My immune system is obviously fritzing due to something much BIGGER going on inside my body. And when I develop a cough, I am sure I’ve come down with tuberculosis. So yeah, I guess you could say I’m kind of a hypochondriac (but not the no-shaking-hands-a-la-Howie-Mandell kind, just the I-feel-ill-therefore-I-must-be-dying kind).

So on Saturday, I got a whammy of a cold. Emmy had been kind enough to share her nasty germies with me. It was the super trifecta of illness: body aches and fever, congestion, and one of those please-kill-me-now dry coughs. My body felt like it had been run over by a bulldozer, and my head felt like it had gone deep-sea diving. I didn’t have the energy to do ANYTHING... other than complain about my body’s sudden rebellion.

And complain I did. I complained to Emmy. I complained to my reflection in the mirror (“who the hell are YOU? And where did you put my healthy happy face??!) I complained to the box of aloe-infused tissues (my new BFF). I complained to the local news reporter on the television who was talking about what a glorious day it was outside (“you want GLORIOUS?? I’ll give you GLORIOUS… cough.. cough.. blaaaaaah).

And throughout all of my beautiful rants, Em was right by my side, wanting to nurse. Because she too was terribly ill. Poor babe. She had all the same symptoms as I did. She needed comfort. She needed to be nurtured. Most of all, she needed breastmilk!! Every. Fifteen. Minutes.

Of course, Em didn’t give a hoot that I could hardly lift my pinkies because it hurt too much. She didn’t mind that a fever made my whole body sweaty and icky. Au contraire, mon frère! My state of utter disgustingness seemed to make me even more appealing to her (“Woo hoo! Mama’s woozy and coughing up a lung! It’s feeding time!”)

And what was I gonna do? Deny my sickly child her only source of nutrition (she refuses to eat anything else when she is sick)? Of course not!

More than anything, I just wanted to have a few hours “off duty”, you know? I needed a little time to myself, so I could heal and feel semi-normal again. Mmm… that didn’t happen. My hub tried to help and distract Em, but she cried and cried and could only be consoled by one thing: my breastmilk. And so I did my mama duties, and fed Em. Much to my achy, breaky body’s dismay, I breastfed on demand, giving Em as many of my delicious antibodies as she wanted. Not so lovingly, or so willingly, I’m sorry to report. But I fed her nonetheless.

I wish I could say that I was a trooper about it. But the truth is, towards the end of the day, I broke down and just BAWLED to my hub because I felt like I just couldn’t do it anymore. My body was thoroughly exhausted. I had nothing left to give. I had no more “nurture” in me. And maybe I didn’t say it out loud, but I know that my tired mind was definitely muttering “what in God's name was I THINKING when I decided to breastfeed??”

And then, after crying a couple of times and taking a hot shower (or two, or three), I kinda got over it.

So here I am. It’s Tuesday. I’m still not healthy, per-se. My throat feels like it’s on fire and I have to fight the nagging urge to remove my tonsils with a pair of rusty scissors. I am still complaining to anyone or anything that crosses my path (“Oh, hey there car! Have you heard about how terrible I feel? No? Well, let me tell you…”).

But THANK GOODNESS, the moment of begrudging breastfeeding has passed. I’m done ruing my decisions. And while I acknowledge the validity of my 24 hour not-so-gung-ho mama attitude, I’m so happy that my body is back to feeling like its nurturing self again, and I once again love breastfeeding just as much as Em does.

Have you gone through a similar situation? Have you ever begrudged breastfeeding for more than 24 hours? I would appreciate any feedback that would make me feel less guilty about my horrible attitude. :)

The Best Parenting Invention EVER

Emmy just got her 82nd cold of the season. The poor little bugger was up most of the night coughing and choking on her own mucus (which meant I was up most of the night trying to get her body in an upright position so she could sleep better). This morning her face was just a mess of teething drool and runny nose, and I couldn’t tell what was what. It was slightly funny, and also terribly disgusting.

Judging from this past winter’s illnesses, Em’s germs are going to behave like college students on spring break, and will bar hop from her body to my body, and then on to my husband’s, and my in-laws’. And then I, being the generous woman that I am, will come into work and touch all of my co-workers’ doorknobs , spreading the little germies throughout my office (unintentionally, of course). Because why keep the joyful celebration of a cold to limited to my immediate family? Why not give EVERYONE a reason to stay home and use their Neti Pot?

It’s not that I don’t take precautionary measures – I do! As soon as Em shows signs of sickness, I start scrubbing my hands like Lady Macbeth. But let’s face it. When Em is sick, I have to wipe her nose about 429 times a minute, and I can’t wash my hands after every wipe. And so it is that in the battle of mama vs. germies, the germies have come out victorious about 99% of the time.

Which is why, as I lay awake in bed last night, listening to the snorts and wheezes of my adorable girl, I came up with the idea for this invention:

I call it THE TISSUE BOX HEAD and I believe it is going to revolutionize the entire parenting experience.

The minute your child begins to sniffle, you strap this hard hat on to their head and secure it tightly. For the duration of the cold, you sit back, relax, and read a novel while the mechanical arms take care of all of the dirty work. Back and forth they go, grabbing a tissue, and wiping your loved one’s teeny but oh-so-lethal snout. The adjustable speed control allows you to choose how many nose wipes your child receives per minute, so you don’t have to worry about keeping up with endless flow. Your fingers remain germ-free and happy! It’s a miracle!

And just think of how popular your child will be at daycare, when they show up with a contraption like this sitting on their head. All the kids in their class are going to want one! Soon every child around the globe will be wearing one, and VOILA(!) the germ warfare that we are so used to in daycare settings will once and for all be conquered. Parents worldwide will be able to MAKE AND KEEP their vacation plans.

Now, I know you are thrilled beyond belief at the prospect of buying THE TISSUE BOX HEAD for your own child, but unfortunately you are going to have to be a little patient. There are a few little “kinks” I have to work out before I apply for the patent. For instance, the prototype I have come up with weighs in at a mere 80 pounds (I’d like to try to get it down to 60), and the mechanical arms keep trying to poke my daughter’s eyes out. But once I DO get all the glitches worked out, I’m taking this little wonder hat straight to the Shark Tank. I know at least a few of those business moguls have kids, so it’s hard to imagine I would walk away without a deal.