But saying that at times it makes me crazed doesn't mean I don't love it, or that I really want to quit right now. It's like when I tell you that toddlerhood at times makes me cry actual tears of desperate wanting for xanax, and you understand that that's just right now and that later I'll well up with blissful mama tears because she sighed and said "wuv oo" and threaded her tiny fingers through my hair and melted against my neck.
There's a little bit of fear that if, as a breastfeeding mom, you fail to give the experience a glowing perfect review at every public opportunity you might scare someone away from trying. But we don't really do that with motherhood in general. We tell the horror stories of long, hard labors and sleepless nights and booboos and failed toddler playdates because we trust that it's painfully obvious- and it is- that our kids are the most wonderful wild ride and we take all that comes with it so happily.
So when I tell you that the last hour and a half I was squeezing the life out of my prayer beads and literally gritting my teeth to keep from just pulling the baby off of me and letting her scream however long she would scream just to get her to stop, you'll allow me, in the same breath, to tell you how hard it was to fall asleep last night without her beside me, and how beautiful her little fingers are when they twist her hair while she nurses. Usually if I'm having a hateful night with it, I only stay in that really annoyed zone a short time before she falls asleep. And the moment when she does relax away and my nipple just falls out of her tiny mouth, it is as wonderful as the xanax I was lusting for. I love the few minutes after that when I freeze, scared to wake her but excited to do the Transfer.
(Our bed arrangments are complicated. For whatever reason, she