|Photo credit: helenmoverland|
Far be it from me to bury the lede: It is not awesome.
So far, I've cut out two of four nursing sessions, replacing them each with 5-6 oz. of whole milk per my new pediatrician's instructions after seeing that Henry was below the third percentile in weight. ("But I swear I feed him! He's just had a stomach virus for a week!" Bad. Mom. Award.)
It's not that he won't take the cow's milk. It's just that he clearly would rather be gnawing on my boob. As a result, he becomes distracted and flails around, sending milk everywhere.
It's like I need a body condom just to feed him. (I think those are called raincoats, but let's not mince words.)
Also, he hasn't quite grasped the physics of the bottle yet, since he's had so little practice. He can hold it, but he doesn't tip it back. So he sucks on it and doesn't get anything.
I mean, he can get milk from the Moo Cow in any position, right? What's the deal?
Then he decides he might as well chew on the nipple, so I pull it out of his mouth and he goes ballistic. Flailing, head butting, milk everywhere, body condom. Et cetera.
|Do I have to explain this to you again?|
Gimme the goods, Moo Cow.
Then there's that whole psychological bullshit that my supply is going down, and if I had to feed him exclusively I couldn't, not that I would want or need to feed him exclusively since we live in New York in the 21st century, but the point is I am shutting a door and I don't like shutting doors, it makes me feel anxious and write run-on sentences.
Someday this will get easier, right? And we'll look back on it and laugh?
I had to ditch my terrible commenting system, but I didn't want to lose the comments, so here they are: