Confession of an Addict
Back when I was pregnant I knew I wanted to nurse my daughter. I imagined it would come easy to us. It did not.
Those first couple of weeks were hell. Then one night it just fell into place.
I know how lucky I am that she and I figured it out so quickly. My sister in law told me it took her and my nephew almost 8 weeks to get their act together.
We’ve been nursing for almost 5 months now, and I love it. I love starting my day quietly with her. I love nursing her to sleep before naps and before she goes to sleep at night. I love how she looks when she is curved against me, her eyes closed in bliss. I love when she looks up at me while she feeds, then smiles so hard she has to relatch.
We have reached that place in the process that I always imagined it would be like: warm, cozy, bonding. She seeks me out when she needs comfort and warmth. I love that I am the only place she can get that form of affection and attention.
Since I have a horrible relationship with my own mother, this is one of the ways I am attempting to have a better relationship with my daughter. Perhaps it makes me selfish, but I won’t apologize for it.
I feel incredibly blessed that breastfeeding worked out for us. Having done it consistently for over four months, I can definitely see why women extend breastfeeding beyond the “recommended” 6 months.
My plan was to breastfeed for a year. At this point, I don’t know how I would stop next August. I will miss the closeness, the special time that is just me and her breathing each other in, sharing warmth.
Of course, she doesn’t have any teeth yet, either, so we’ll see.
Full disclosure: we supplement with formula, but over half of her daily intake is breast milk.