There are many things about nursing that drive me crazy, but more often than not I enjoy breast feeding. (I've said baby throughout to refer to both William and Natalie without pronouns).
I still marvel at how my milk alone makes my baby double in size in about 4 months.
I feel so satisfied when baby releases with a quiet pop, sound asleep, with a content smile and a little dribble of milk from the corner of the mouth.
I love the closeness as baby hugs my breast, caresses my face, and tucks knees in around my side.
Even in the middle of a long night, I melt when baby stops, looks me in the eyes, and smiles at me.
Over time, I've come to enjoy the little tug on the nipple from latch and the tingle of let down, like the hurt of a good stretch.
I adore watching baby sleep using my breast as a pillow.
I love how baby and I are perfectly placed for a snuggle and eye to eye chat. I stare at baby's eyes and new teeth and beautiful skin and revel in the music of baby babble, adoring how most of it is directed at me. I bend over to kiss checks, nose and forehead and stroke hair and back. I kiss baby's palms when baby reaches up to explore my face.
I feel confidence when I can calm a fussy mood, at least temporarily, and get an overtired or overstimulated baby to sleep.
As crazy as it is, I've come to like the smell of exclusively breastfed poop and dried breast milk on clothes.
I'm proud I'm in such a minor percentage of women who feed past six months (yet also glad no one has ever called me a nut or critized me about continuing).
I still marvel at how my milk alone makes my baby double in size in about 4 months.
I feel so satisfied when baby releases with a quiet pop, sound asleep, with a content smile and a little dribble of milk from the corner of the mouth.
I love the closeness as baby hugs my breast, caresses my face, and tucks knees in around my side.
Even in the middle of a long night, I melt when baby stops, looks me in the eyes, and smiles at me.
Over time, I've come to enjoy the little tug on the nipple from latch and the tingle of let down, like the hurt of a good stretch.
I adore watching baby sleep using my breast as a pillow.
I love how baby and I are perfectly placed for a snuggle and eye to eye chat. I stare at baby's eyes and new teeth and beautiful skin and revel in the music of baby babble, adoring how most of it is directed at me. I bend over to kiss checks, nose and forehead and stroke hair and back. I kiss baby's palms when baby reaches up to explore my face.
I feel confidence when I can calm a fussy mood, at least temporarily, and get an overtired or overstimulated baby to sleep.
As crazy as it is, I've come to like the smell of exclusively breastfed poop and dried breast milk on clothes.
I'm proud I'm in such a minor percentage of women who feed past six months (yet also glad no one has ever called me a nut or critized me about continuing).
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