A Non Breastfeeding Breastfeeding Fan
I am my own worst enemy.
I couldn’t successfully breast feed Moo. It wasn’t for lack of trying. There are things I should have done differently, I should have had better support. There were many reasons it didn’t work. And it hurts. Every day I think about the missed opportunities for more help, how I would change things, the experience I’m missing out on. I’d go back and do it again in a heart beat if I had a time machine and a guarantee that it would work out. One of the main reasons I don’t want anymore children is the thought of another breast feeding failure. I honestly don’t believe I could recover from it. My heart aches with loss at times.
And yet I choose over and over again to immerse myself in breast feeding and everything about it. I attend a breast feeding group, I trained as a peer supporter, I read about it, I blog about it, I discuss it with anyone willing to engage in conversation about it. I love breast feeding jewellery, photography, art, nursing covers in pretty fabrics. I love the science of it, the statistics, the facts.
I must be a glutton for punishment, to constantly remind myself of something I don’t have. I’ll be in conversation about it and I’ll get a flash back of those early days. Or I’ll see a nursing mother in the park. I’ll read about breast feeding against the odds. And a little piece of me dies inside. It’s not me. I’m not breast feeding.
But I can’t switch off the passion, the love for it, the desire to tell anyone who’ll listen, the need to support others so that they don’t suffer the same. It’s such a lose lose situation. Do I give up the peer supporting and my blog and try to get over it, never quite forgetting how awful it all was? Or do I keep doing what I love and surrounding myself with what I care about, to my own emotional detriment? I can’t win.