Ack! I did it again. I read other people's blogs before posting to my own. I can feel control of my brain being given over to the cosmic web. I no longer have original thought.
I have quite a few things on my mind today. But I'm all a jumble and can't seem to form a coherent post. I'm tempted to talk about breastfeeding, but I'm pretty sure nobody wants to read that.
Ah. What the hell. You can all live vicariously through my motherhood!
Whenever a group of mothers get together, the talk eventually includes one of two topics, either breastfeeding or birth stories. I'm not sure why, as a species, we feel the need to do this. We must have some evolutionary need to prove our superiority as mothers by showing off our three-year-old breastfeeder (NASTY!) or our Cesarean scar (OUCH!).
Personally, I don't need outsiders to validate my skills as a parent. I'm pretty happy just being me, and doing the best I can for my offspring. So when the talk turns to breastfeeding, I usually clam up. Or if they start to piss me off enough, I'll go on my own anti-La Leche League screaming fit.
My daughter was born one month premature. We had only lived here a few months and I didn't really have any friends yet. And lucky me, my husband was flying that night. When my water first broke, I was in a bit of denial. So, naturally, I called my mother. While I was on the phone, my water REALLY broke. And let me tell you. It's not like you see on TV.
So I called the command center and told them what was going on, in hopes that they could land his plane. As luck would have it, he was on the radio at that exact moment, reporting engine problems. They turned him around and landed his plane within a half hour. And I drove myself to the hospital.
I was in complete hell for about 7 hours, and then I got my epidural. No natural childbirth for me. I'm all about the science. She was born without a hitch, and was very healthy despite her early appearance.
I did my best to breastfeed in the hospital, but it takes a few days to get started. Once we were home and my milk came in, she was having none of that. She would latch on and then just scream her head off. I should have realized that this was a sign of her impending personality, but I figured it was a fluke. I wanted to switch to formula so bad, but my husband kept saying that we should wait until our appointment with the lactation specialist.
Well, because she was premature she was very jaundiced. And the worst thing for jaundice is dehydration. In just a couple of days, she dropped below 5 pounds and became dehydrated. She was on a fiber-optic light therapy and we were feeding her with a medicine dropper, to avoid nipple confusion.
So my mother sat there, with a cup of expressed breast milk (you don't know humiliation until you have pumped breastmilk!) and a cup of formula. She'd squirt in the breastmilk and my daughter would scream. She'd squirt in formula and my daughter would sort of "num num" it all up.
So, I'm not stupid. Screw breastfeeding. Get this kid a bottle.
(Okay, here's the whole point of my story!)
Later that day, she was at the pediatrician on base. I was still a new enough mother to try and make excuses for my decisions. I told the doctor it was too hard to breastfeed her while she was on the light therapy, and I had decided to switch to bottles. And the man actually had the nerve to say:
"I'll make a deal with you. You can take her off the light to breastfeed her, as long as you put her right back on. If you don't breastfeed this child you will never bond with her."
What!!! Who the hell did he think he was? You know what's hard? Bonding with a child who does nothing but scream at your breast. Bottle feeding was the best decision I made for her. She was wasting away and headed for the hospital. UGH! I still get mad just thinking about it.
So I just sort of said, "Mmm hmmm. Okay." And I got myself a new doctor post haste.
Unless you have serious problems, you bond with the being who has been growing inside you for nine months. That whole bonding thing that so-called experts are always talking about is a bunch of crap. I don't know if it has grown out of the brainwashing of groups like La Leche League or if it is a manifestation of the post-feminism guilt of working while raising children. But damn. It's your kid. You bond. Trust me.
Breastfeeding is a wonderful thing if it works for you. But if it doesn't, don't do it. Don't let anyone else tell you what is right for your child. It's food, not love.
And as for my son...well...his birth story is too hellacious to contemplate here. But I found great joy in sticking a bottle of formula in his mouth when he was one-day-old. And so did his Daddy.
So I'm sure that all of you gay guys who read my blog are just fascinated. In fact, if you've read this far, I think you deserve some kind of prize. I have mountains of kids' artwork that I'm willing to share. And you can all thank him for setting me off on this rant!
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