But that wasn’t the extent of the badness. Oh no. I was so sick and dehydrated that I wasn’t breastfeeding at all. For the entire week. Lucy, meet Formula. Formula, Lucy.
Lucy’s system was insulted She went on a poop strike. There’s not a whole lot more fun chez nous these days than gambling on when the baby’s going to drop her next duce. I had to get her some pear juice to help things along after day 4.5. Which she hated, by the way.
But help things along it did. And when that bet was settled? Oh. My. Word. I won’t even go there except to say that breast milk on the out smells like lilacs and roses compared to used formula. Gag. And especially when I wasn’t feeling well to begin with? Ew. Seriously. Ew.
And THEN, when I started to feel better and was ready to get back into the swing of routine and feeding and sleeping and playing and whatnot, I sighed into our favorite chair with my favorite girl to breastfeed. Except that Lucy wanted nothing to do with it. These milk jugs were empty!
I called a lactation consultant and talked with everyone who has ever breastfed ever and asked for advice all around. Hoping, of course, that there would be some miraculous answer that someone would whisper in my ear that involved more words like “ice cream” and less like “dry pump every 2 seconds.” But I wasn’t so lucky.
I thought, “Well, maybe it’s time to wean! Lucy’s taking formula like it’s her job, she’s almost six months old, I could have my boobs back….” And then I got really sad about it. There’s a certain amount of guilt attached to breastfeeding for me. Like if I don’t, I’m cheating my precious behbeh out of something she needs. Which, I realize, is ridiculous. It’s emotions, people. They don’t often have reason.
But then again, there are so many upsides to breastfeeding. It’s so much cheaper. So much. And it’s super convenient. It’s not like I’m going to accidentally forget my boobs in the other diaper bag and Lucy’s going to starve. And it’s just such a nice little snuggle time with my baby who is growing so way too fast.
So pumping it was. Grumble, grumble, frickafracka grumble.
The good news is my milk is back. The pain in the butt news is that it took like 4-5 days that really sucked. (Ha! Sucked! Pumping!) Dry pumping has to be one of the most uncomfortable things ev-er.
But hopefully I won’t ever have to do it again. Inshallah.
And now evidence of my growing too fast baby:
Sitting up mostly on her own!
Figuring out how to get these darn things out of the box.