The desire to nurse your child. For me, at least. I’m pumping on one side and bottle feeding the breastmilk to Julie, and I hate it with a completely irrational passion. It just feels so completely wrong to me. Rationally, I get it – I need to give the wound time to heal, and I shouldn’t have to cry and scream in agony nursing her. Pumping isn’t completely pain free, but it’s agony free, if that makes sense. And she’s still 100% getting breastmilk, no formula supplements, and I’m thrilled about that. The crack looks marginally better, although maybe I’m just fooling myself. I’m keeping it slathered in lansinoh and trying to expose it to air when I can (although it’s so incredibly sensitive I can’t do it for long) and hoping it heals fast.
But I still hate pumping. I hate her having a bottle. Last night, I let her nurse using the breast sheild and felt so much better. Just the physical act of nursing her directly made such a difference in my mental state, I felt so much better, so much closer to her. After she nursed, I held her for the longest time, sleeping on my chest. The other kids and Marc were sound asleep and it was this wonderful little island in time, just me and my baby girl.
In other news – we got Jess her first pair of high heeled sandals. What’s up with heels for little girls these days? It’s lunacy, and I’ve delayed getting them as long as I could, but she was so sad about not having any, claimed every other little girl in the world has them and she’s the only one who doesn’t. And I have to let her make her own choices sometimes. Marc wasn’t thrilled about it either, but we decided they would be her “dress up” shoes only for special occasions. And hopefully she won’t break her ankle.