The journey began just moments after his homecoming.
Both high on adrenaline and oxytocin.
Uncontrollable shaking and undeniable relief.
Far from helpless, he found his way and started to feast.
A mothers nectar. The coveted colostrum.
Customized just for him.
Latch, suck, sleep, repeat.
All bliss.
Then the milk comes in.. tender, full, swelling, pain.
Less bliss.
Resistance and then finally surrender.
More bliss.
I watch him and ignore the clock.
Open bar. Full time job. Touched out.
Unsnap, unbutton, unzip.
Can ́t get my shirt open fast enough.
I stop wearing them.
Always exposed. Drip, drip, drip.
Nap traps, but still bliss.
The more I surrender the easier it gets. The more I enjoy it.
Side lying saves me. It saves us.
Cluster feeding and growth spurts enter the chat.
Then he starts to look up at me and smile.
Acknowledgment. Connection.
It fuels me as I fuel him.
Beautiful baby blues, so striking from this angle.
The perfect pout.
Some days are harder than others.
Some days are more bliss and some days are more bullshit.
Some days my husband feels useless because he has no tits.
Some days I agree.
Some days I envy other mothers that made other choices or that weren ́t able to breastfeed for
whatever reason.
It ́s always greener on the other side.
Nights are lonely, but when he needs me and my body cures his discomfort, I am re-energized.
Hungry, fussy, tired, sick, bored, whatever the mood, I am the answer.
When in doubt, boob out.
My body astonishes me… he thinks it ́s normal.
My boobs will never be the same.
But nothing will ever be the same.
And I don ́t want it to.
Sacrifice.
He ́s sucking the selfishness out of me.
Teeth reveal themselves and the biting begins.
So does the distraction, the twisting and the bouncing from boob to boob.
I ́m always flashing.
I put the boob he ́s not on away and he immediately wants that one.
The grass is greener for him too.
Clogged ducts. The pain.
The remedy?
Feed him more.
More?
I can ́t possibly feed him more.
Massage. Heat. Repeat.
Dangle-feed.
Well, now I really feel like a cow.
Massage. Heat. Repeat.
Vibration. Hydration.
Finally release and back to bliss.
Now, back to work and the pumping begins.
Flange fittings and freezer stash.
Pump, clean, pump, clean, sanitize.
Don ́t forget about the deadline.
Performance anxiety.
Slacker boob.
Am I making enough?
Eat the oatmeal. Drink the tea.
I try to trust my body, trust my baby.
Woozah. Stress = less.
I use all the tricks.
Headphones in. Labor playlist on. Newborn sock in hand.
Focus, but don ́t forget your deadline.
He prefers milk from the source so he gets in his calories at night.
It ́s still lonely.
The useless husband sleeps deep.
Even though I am exhausted, I know we are where we need to be.
He tells me.
He tells me in the way his body relaxes as he latches.
He tells me in the way he searches for me in the night.
