The last few days (weeks?) have been a little rough... I have been desperately trying to salvage breast feeding Baby D. I suppose I should have seen this coming from a mile away, since he was getting about 6 bottles a day and I would only be able to nurse him once or twice. I think it was because of how incredibly difficult it was for those first 4 days when we were first "figuring it out" together... I loved nursing, because it was such a marvelous bonding experience, even through all those tears from both sides, and when he figured it out, he was a great nurser. Over the last few weeks, nursing has turned into torture time... he cries for 20 minutes, refuses to eat, until Mr. D walks into the bedroom and asks if everything is okay, I hand Baby D off to bottle feed with Mr. D and respond with "My baby hates me" as I go off into the other room to cry as I pump for 10 minutes while attempting to read the latest edition of Runner's World.
Today the though occurred to me, why I am doing this to myself? There are worse things than not being able to nurse. I am not sure why I felt it was admitting defeat or a show of failure on my part as a mother, because it's not. He is still getting what he needs and it shouldn't matter how its given to him.
Today I finally became at peace with having a bottle fed baby.
And I am truly grateful for Mr. D spending a fortune on my pump, which even though I sometimes feel like I spend more time with it than with my own baby, it does take less time to pump than to nurse, and its still cheaper than formula. Plus, between the dishwasher, buying a few more bottles and using my micro-steam sanitizing bags, I'm not spending every night washing bottles and pump parts... I have better things to do....