My Ramona is a breastfed baby. Sunday night I realized I was down to three frozen bags of milk after dipping into my reserves all week because I just wasn't pumping enough milk at work. I cried and felt disappointed. I was failing working motherhood.
I’m proud of the milk I give her. And I need to cut that shit out. I am reminded of a Buddhist story where the monk’s head is neither turned by blame or praise. There is my baby, there is the milk, and sometimes there will be the formula. I prefer to nurse her and I prefer that she drink breast milk. And we will take it one day at a time. I'm not going to have my head turned by this. I will not feel pride for feeding her breast milk, neither will I feel blame for feeding her formula. I will feed my baby, I'll love her and we will grow.
.....However, I met with a lactation consultant. She gave me some good ideas and a kick ass breast pump to try. All is good in novaland.
Never underestimate the power of professional help. Be it a priest or a lactation consultant. We need teachers.