I’m upset. I’m really upset. It’s all over. That ridiculously minuscule slither of hope that Moo would breast feed is gone. I never got to breast feed and most likely never will. I never got to snuggle in a tiny baby close, listen to the rhythmic suckling, play gymnurstics, have sleepy, cuddly, milk drunk times.
I bang on about the possibility of bottle feeding being intimate, that she got the good stuff anyway, but who am I kidding? I feel fucking robbed. And who do I blame? Who took that experience from me? Society and it’s easy, convenient, sleeping-through-the-night formula feeding ideals? The health care profession and it’s lack of funding and support? Fate or God or destiny or whichever higher power chooses the path we take?
This has damn near crushed me. I can’t explain why I care about it so much or why I hold on to all of this. I don’t know if it’s stubbornness or biology or basic stupidity. All I know is that it hurts really bad. One half of me (the mentally healthy half) wants to brush it off, start the next chapter, focus my energies on the parenting adventures to come. The other half (the winning one, that shouts much louder) wants to cry for all eternity.
I contemplated getting up tomorrow and expressing, continuing to exclusively pump. I can’t stop, I mustn’t stop, it’s all that I have. But that’s not what I really want. I never wanted a fucking pump in the first place. I wanted better support, better health care, more knowledge, a tongue tie division sooner, a trauma free birth. What I really wanted was to breast feed my child. Such a simple, raw, natural, basic act. That’s all I wanted.