Now is where I am supposed to write the snarky subtitle that negates or subverts the meaning of the title. Except, nope. I really do hate breastfeeding.
Yes, it is good for my son. Yes, I want to make it to a year-somehow. No, it is not the epitome of warm fuzzy bonding (for me). No, I did not miss the act of nursing when I weaned Cade. But yes, I do find it more convinient then formula feeding.
I am the opposite of a touchy feely person. I don’t like wearing clothes because I can feel them against my skin. Constantly. SO ANNOYING. (Maybe on a related note, white noise also drives me up the wall…) But I REALLY don’t like my skin touching skin (like in shorts if I cross my legs. Ugh!) It is a struggle to shower some days because I can’t stand being wet. So to have a cute, but constantly drooly damp faced baby wrap his lips around as much breast as possible while using his sandpaper feeling tongue to briskly yank on my nipple is just… *shudders*. There is no nice part of that sensation. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
It gets tolerable, since I’m used to it, but tolerable is as much as I can hope for. As far as bonding goes, well, I mean, I guess it works. But, I dunno, it doesn’t seem all that special to me. All mammals suckle their young, it’s a pretty cool design but it’s no more special then milking a cow. It’s basically right on up there with “everybody poops”. Real, um, special.
Now, holding him while he makes cute snuggly noises and passes out on my chest? THAT gives me the warm fuzzies. As long as by “chest” I mean his damp face on my tshirt, not touching any skin. 😛
I’m not trying to belittle nursing for those moms who love it and find joy in feeding their babies. I feel compelled to illustrate my point of view simply because it clearly isn’t the norm-but I’m sure I’m not the only one.
So, for all you moms out there who hate breastfeeding but are doing it anyway-I’m right there with you. Go us.